Hello Goodbye
by espiyo
Summary: Section D has a new Section Chief. Although Ruth is playing more of a part in this than I'd envisaged, there's still not a lot of fluff, sorry, and Ch7 is not for the squeamish or easily offended. Disclaimer: Kudos and the BBC own most of the characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Usual disclaimers apply.**

**Hope you enjoy!  
**

**

* * *

**

_Monday_

As Harry walked through the scanner he heard a voice behind him.

'Sir Harry?'

He turned. 'Morning, James. Good weekend?'

The security guard grimaced. 'Footie could've gone better, sir, but other than that I can't complain. I just wanted to let you know that Mr Myers has been in this morning. About half an hour ago.'

Harry frowned. 'And?'

'As you said, sir. I told him to come back at 10am. He wasn't best pleased.'

He scanned the lobby. No sign. 'He did leave then?'

'Yes sir.'

Harry clapped his shoulder. 'Good man. When he comes back, let him through. Best give him a thorough search first, though, to be on the safe side.' He gave a barely perceptible wink.

James grinned. 'As you wish, sir.'

Harry headed for the lift, seething that his suspicions about Myers had proved correct. 'Bloody chancer,' he muttered.

* * *

Up in the Grid, Harry hung up his coat then went in search of Jenna. He found her in the forgery suite, poring over a pile of passports. After the layers of student shabbiness and anonymising hats and scarves of Edinburgh, he was finding it difficult to readjust to the tumbling curls, the perfectly applied makeup that enhanced those bewitching eyes, and the curves that, to paraphrase Chandler, would have made a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. He cleared his throat.

'Morning, Jenna. How was your weekend?'

She looked up and smiled. 'Fine thanks. Christmas shopping mainly, and putting up the decorations. You?'

Oh, Ruth spent most of the weekend either locked in the loo, giving me a hard time, or sleeping. I had a blast. 'Pretty much the same, really.'

The room was deserted. This was as good a place as any. 'Listen.' He pulled out a chair and sat down beside her. 'I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to speak to you last week, but today we have a new Section Chief starting.' He held up his hands. 'I know, I know. He's been dumped on us from on high; I only found out on Friday and it seems as if we have no say in the matter.' He paused. 'Problem is, because we're paying for him, Whitehall say we only have the budget for one analyst.'

He at least had the grace to look shamefaced.

'And the analyst you want is Ruth.'

'I am sorry. Truly, I am. You've done really well here, I have no complaints on that score, and on a personal level I'll always be indebted to you for finding my son. But the fact is that we need Ruth's language skills and she also has much more experience of intel analysis.'

Jenna eyed him. 'Oh, come off it, Harry. She has much more experience of _you_, that's all that matters.'

Anybody else, and he would have sent them and the table flying. Jenna saw the fury flash across his face. 'I'm sorry,' she muttered. 'That was inappropriate. I'm just disappointed, is all. I thought I'd done enough for you to keep me here.'

Mentally, Harry counted to ten. 'You know full well that Ruth and I...well, we're a couple. I'm not abusing my position and she's not just trying to advance her career. And if I ever hear another sniff of you implying otherwise I will make bloody sure that you never work above minimum wage again. Now _that_ is me abusing my position. Do I make myself clear?'

As he stood, very deliberately placing the chair back against the table, he saw her stricken face and felt a pang of guilt.

She tried again; to her credit and to Harry's relief not playing on her looks, which would have had any red blooded man condoning her cancelling a season's sporting fixtures and selling their firstborn into slavery. 'I know that, and I know I had no right to expect anything. I was only ever supposed to be here on secondment, after all. What I said was totally uncalled for, and I apologise.'

Harry. somewhat mollified, gave a grudging nod.

'Just so you know, I have had a fantastic time working with you, and I'm really grateful for the opportunity.' She shoved her chair back and stood up, wincing as she realised that she sounded like a newly-fired Apprentice. 'I'll go and clear my desk.'

Harry hesitated. Normal security protocol dictated that any ex-employee, whether potentially disgruntled or no, be escorted immediately off the premises. And yet...

'Hold on. Ruth won't be back here til after the new year. Why don't you finish up on the 31st?'

She frowned. 'But...'

'I think I owe you that at least. Leave it with me, I'll sort it.'

* * *

To his annoyance he was first into the meeting room. He spent a couple of minutes twirling his pen between his fingers, then went back onto the Grid. Beth was standing by Dimitri's desk, talking animatedly as he listened, obviously amused. For the first time, Harry noticed their body language and pondered. Ruth would've said Dimitri was like that with all women, but he wasn't so sure. Peering over the bank of monitors, he could see Tariq slumped over his desk, propping up his head on his hand. His mussed up hair and yesterday's shirt told their own story. Jenna was nowhere to be seen.

He rubbed his face tiredly. This was shaping up to be a helluva day. 'If I can just interrupt your romantic trysts and hangovers to remind you that we have a team meeting?' As he turned and strode back the way he'd come he was aware of a flurry of activity behind him.

* * *

Silence. The eyes that had been locked on him flitted away. Then...they all flitted to Dimitri...'Thing is, Harry...'

'Go on.' Expecting a complaint about the lack of Equal Opps in the Security Service.

'Is that wise? I mean, we're largely responsible for his old man getting banged up and his sister was killed working for us. There can't be any love lost there.'

Harry pursed his lips. 'I'd be lying if I said the same thing hadn't occurred to me. But all I can say is be mindful of that and be careful.' He checked his watch. 'Right. He'll be here in five minutes. Anything else anyone needs to say before he gets here?' The heads around the table indicated not, and as if on cue there was a knock on the door.

Philip Myers had all of his sister's presence, all of her self-confidence, her striking good looks. But where Ros had charm and just a hint of vulnerability that she hid behind a cynical and aloof exterior, her brother came across as arrogant and cold. Beth and Jenna both took in the broad shoulders, the strong jaw, the suit, the shoes. And he had eyes that would have given Paul Newman a run for his money. Those same blue eyes now scanned each occupant of the room in turn.

'Started without me, Harry? Not very polite. Care to do the introductions?'

Surprisingly, he had a musician's hands, but his grip was firm. Dimitri noticed a watch on his left wrist that he doubted a civil service salary had paid for.

He noticed, too, that his gaze lingered on Beth for just a fraction too long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Goodness knows what this one will look like; the formatting isn't behaving itself at all. A short one, as this may prove a nightmare to read, sorry!  
**

**Anyhoo, methinks grumpy Harry needs a fluffy interlude...**

**

* * *

**

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Harry Pearce_

**To**: _Ruth Evershed_

**Subject**: _Help!_

The new chicken in the coop is ruffling feathers already. Last thing I need right now.

How's your day going?

Missing you.

Hxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Ruth Evershed_

**To**: _Harry Pearce_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

No surprises there then. Watch your back, caro mio.

Today's been all comms, transcripts and gisting. Fun, fun, fun.

Hope you're okay; you sound a bit down.

Love you.

Rxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Harry Pearce_

**To**: _Ruth Evershed_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

Just tired. I never sleep much when you're not there.

Hxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Ruth Evershed_

**To**: _Harry Pearce_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

You never sleep much when I am there either!

Rxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Harry Pearce_

**To**: _Ruth Evershed_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

Because of your snoring? No, that's true enough.

Hxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Ruth Evershed_

**To**: _Harry Pearce_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

Oh, ha ha, very droll!

Well, only two more sleeps then I'll be back in London doing my pneumatic drill bit. Will I see you on Wednesday night or will you be tied up with work?

Rxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Harry Pearce_

**To**: _Ruth Evershed_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

I think little Harry dictates that a rendezvous is mandatory.

Hxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Ruth Evershed_

**To**: _Harry Pearce_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

Despite the fact that this baby is giving me so much grief it seems inevitable it's a boy, I'm sure we're having a little Harriet.

Rxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Harry Pearce_

**To**: _Ruth Evershed_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

I wasn't talking about the baby.

Hxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Ruth Evershed_

**To**: _Harry Pearce_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

^ ^  
*O*

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Harry Pearce_

**To**: _Ruth Evershed_

**Subject**: _Re: Help_

What the hell does that mean? Please tell me your response was so filthy that GCHQ encrypted it.

Hopefully, Hxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Ruth Evershed_

**To**: _Harry Pearce_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

Naughty Harry. Will tell you what it means tonight. Right now I have a meeting with the lovely Adam.

A bientot.

Rxx

* * *

- External Mail [medium risk]-

- Intra-department communication system -

**From**: _Harry Pearce_

**To**: _Ruth Evershed_

**Subject**: _Re: Help!_

Never thought I'd ever be jealous of a bloody mathematician.

Okay, better go and see if the feathers are still flying.

Speak later. And don't forget the handsfree kit.

H(orny)xx

* * *

He leaned back in his chair and hit Send.

'Harry, we've just turned up something interesting on the True Light cell.'

'For the umpteenth time, will you people bloody knock?' Harry roared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the lovely reviews, they are much appreciated! Disclaimers still apply...**

* * *

'So, what do we have?'

Jenna tilted her monitor towards him. 'Usman Ali. He did the coding for the website. We've discovered that he flew to Pakistan last year, ostensibly for an arranged marriage; however, he came back without a blushing bride.'

Harry sighed. 'So he changed his mind. She changed her mind. It happens.'

Jenna tapped her keyboard. Up came a photo of a bearded Ali seated on a battered sofa with two other men. The wall behind them was pockmarked with what looked like bullet holes. 'Tariq did a GPS trace on this photo. It was taken in the province of Logar, a Taliban stronghold in Afghanistan.'

'So, was our Mr Ali planning on finding true love at an Al Qaeda training camp?'

'Looks like it.'

'Do we know who the other two are?'

'I'm working on that.'

'Okay. Let me know when you have something. Ali; what's he been up to since?'

'He's unemployed, but doesn't seem to be short of money, so he's got funding from somewhere. That, coupled with his training makes us think he's the one most likely to strike against the Indian delegation.'

'Have we got anyone on him?'

'Should have shortly; Dimitri's on his way. In his capacity as a Property Conservation Officer with the local council he's going to check Ali's flat for structural damage and bug it to within an inch of its life . Plus, the couple across the road are away on a skiing holiday and we're going to be doing our neighbourly bit by housesitting for a few days.'

Harry nodded. 'Good.' He straightened. "Where are Beth and Phil?'

'Surveillance. They're going to the place over the road.'

_Oh are they? _Harry thought. _And more to the point, he's been here a matter of hours and he's already not bothering to brief me about what my own team is doing. Way to make a good first impression._

'Harry?'

'Mm?'

'Why don't we just pick him up?'

'He's our most important lead thus far. We pull him in, we lose that and they go ahead anyway, only we haven't the foggiest who they have lined up to take his place. We could amass all kinds of intel if we just let him think it's business as usual.'

'And what about the rest of the people on the website?'

'Oh, their phones are being tapped, their emails monitored, their post intercepted. Tariq's keeping an eye on them via face matching, but so far there's been nothing they would be ashamed to tell their grannies.' His fingertips massaged his brow. 'Anyway, I fancy a cup of tea; want one?'

Jenna squeezed his arm. 'I'll do that. I'll bring it through. Biscuit?'

Harry patted his midriff. ' Best not,' he sighed. ' Don't want Ruth trading me in for our dashing young Section Chief.'

Jenna wrinkled her nose. ' As if.'

* * *

_Trade Delegation Meeting - Day 2_

To his chagrin, Ruth had let him sleep in til she was ready to go. 'I'll see you tonight,' she'd reasoned. 'You are still coming through for the weekend?'

That had been the plan, but the talks showed no sign of ending anytime soon. Dimitri and Beth obviously thought they were home free, as they were listening in and playing word bingo with the jargon. Harry was cranky and distracted; he knew his mind was only half on the job, half on the bombshell of the previous day. Twins. Ruth had lain there, rigid, clutching Harry's hand as the consultant had scanned her belly again.

'Yes, I'm pleased to tell you they're both fine,' he'd announced cheerfully.

Harry had looked at him blankly. At the word 'fine' Ruth had released her grip on his hand just a little.

'B-both?' He'd stuttered. 'We're having twins?'

'Yes, congratulations! Here you go.' And he'd turned the monitor round and shown them their babies, outlining the heads, the arms, the legs; pointing out the tiny, fluttering hearts; giving the shadows and light recognisable form.

As Harry gazed at the screen, the momentary flutter of relief ebbed as the practicalities started wheeling round his head. The implications of a multiple pregnancy for Ruth. They'd need to move. The number of nappies. The number of toys. Two babies? At his age? Not daring to say anything he'd glanced down at Ruth. Her fear had been replaced by relief, and now as she looked at the monitor her face was suffused with a dazed wonder. She turned to him, her eyes alight with joy, and plastering a smile on his face he had hushed the murmurs of regret that the life he'd longed for and dreamed of for so long would soon be no more.

* * *

Phil's voice buzzed in his ear piece. 'Harry, they're done. They should be out in the foyer in thirty seconds.'

'Copy that.' He indicated to the rest of the team to take up their positions and followed them out. As they blended seamlessly in with the hotel staff lined up round the foyer he remained up on the mezzanine, keeping an overview of proceedings. 'Tariq,' he barked, his hand to his earpiece, 'how are we looking outside?'

There was a pause while Tariq flicked through the CCTV screens. 'Not a peep.'

'Any activity online?'

'As of three minutes ago, nothing for the last couple of days.'

Harry exhaled. Had it all been a hoax? Had they got wind of the surveillance and called it off? He watched as the Business Secretary and his Indian counterpart emerged, all smiles and handshakes. As the rest of the delegates appeared the invited few press flashguns began firing. The Business Secretary gave a short speech, and then they all began to file out to the waiting cars. As the last door closed and the vehicle crunched off down the drive, Harry checked his watch. He should be able to leave within the hour; with a bit of luck he'd be in Cheltenham in time to have dinner with Ruth. Motorway McDonalds were all very well, but Ronald McDonald wasn't half so much fun to play footsie with.

* * *

_Christmas Day_

'Don't you think,' he said eventually, 'that it's a bit unfair to give me a Christmas present and bar me from using my hands?'

Ruth lifted her head. 'Nope!' she grinned. 'But I can stop using mine if that'd make you feel better?'

'No-o-o-o! You carry on.'

A few minutes passed.

'Harry, do you think Graham might be up? He could be sitting downstairs, half starving but too polite to raid the kitchen.'

'...can you please not talk about my son while we're...trust me, he'll still be snoring his head off.'

'And he's not a light sleeper? I mean, he won't hear anything if...'

'Ruth!'

But before there was even a chance of their creating a racket and waking Graham, Harry's mobile beeped.

He froze. 'Oh god, no.'

Ruth reached up to grab his hand. 'Leave it.'

'I can't,' he said heavily. 'That ringtone; I'm being red flashed.'

She stared at him in disbelief. 'But it's Christmas Day, Harry. Our first Christmas Day. Our one and only Christmas Day with just the two of us.' She flapped her hand. 'You know what I mean.'

The dejection on his face dissuaded her from saying any more. With a huff of exasperation she flopped onto her back.

'Harry Pearce.' His head sank onto his chest. 'I'll be there as soon as I can.'

He cut the call and turned to Ruth. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart. I do have to go. A bomb's been detonated near Regent Street.'


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter gets a bit sweary, sorry. Usual disclaimers continue to apply, and sorry for the distinct lack of fluff...**

**

* * *

**

As Harry quickly showered and dressed, Ruth made coffee and bacon rolls, biting her lip as Harry wrapped his roll in foil and decanted the coffee into a flask. 'What shall I tell Graham?' she asked.

'What shall you tell me about what?'

Harry's son stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of boxer shorts, distractedly scratching his chest.

'Happy Christmas, Graham.'

'Happy Christmas, Dad, Ruth.'

'Happy Christmas.' She stood on tiptoe to give him a Christmas kiss.

'Any chance of your putting some clothes on, son?' asked Harry mildly. He was all too well aware that Ruth, clad in one of his tshirts and a couple of strips of elastic that optimistically called themselves knickers, had no cause to complain about the lack of Graham's attire.

'Yeah, in a minute. What did you have to tell me? Ah, hang on. You're suited and booted and having a takeaway breakfast. It can only be the Harry Pearce take on Christmas Day. Well, don't let us hold you up.'

Harry flinched. Graham's voice was neutral, but the folded arms and cold eyes made his feelings all too clear.

'A bomb's gone off near Regent Street. I have to go. I'm sorry. Believe me, I'm sorry.'

'Yeah, you and me both. I'm going to get dressed.' Graham turned and walked out of the room.

Harry stared after his son in despair. Ruth touched his arm. 'It's okay. He'll be okay. Just...don't be too long. And be careful. Please.'

He folded his arms around her, and pulling her against his chest kissed the top of her head. 'I won't, I will, and I love you.'

* * *

Loth to drag Mike away from his family, Harry opted to drive himself in the Range Rover rather than arranging a pool car. The streets were quiet, and he made good progress, munching on his bacon roll as he drove.

As he got towards Regent Street he hit speed dial on the handsfree.

'Jenna? It's Harry. Whereabouts are you?'

'Covent Garden.'

'Okay, I'm not far behind you. Do we have any intel on this? On who's responsible?'

'Not so far.'

'No warning?'

'Not that I'm aware of.'

Harry paused as he eased to a halt for the traffic lights at King's Cross. 'Where's Phil?'

'Back at the Grid. He's doing what he can there and then he'll head over.'

_No point in ruining Beth and Dimitri's Christmas unless we have to, _Harry thought. 'Fine. See you shortly.'

He could already see the pall of smoke to the west above Regent Street. Grimacing, he steeled himself for the worst, yet hoped that the rows of closed shops if not Christmas Day itself would have kept the usual throngs at home; that the only damage would be to bricks and mortar. He pulled into an alley off Brewer Street, just outside the police cordon, and parked. As he headed towards Vigo Street he saw Jenna up ahead, talking to a man in a high vis jacket and hard hat. Something about the interaction gave him pause, and then the man grabbed Jenna's wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.

'Hoi!' Harry shouted, and broke into a run. As part of her training she had done basic self defence, but it looked for all the world as if she'd forgotten every lesson. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind alarm bells were clanging but he ran on, heedless. As he reached them, Jenna shook her head, pleading, beseeching, and he slowed to a halt, confused. 'What the hell's going on? Let her go,' he snapped.

'Well, well, if it isn't the redoubtable Harry Pearce himself.'

Harry's eyes widened. He'd know that voice anywhere. He knew, too, that the police and CTC operatives that were crawling all over Vigo Street were well out of earshot.

'Oh, I'm sorry, it's Sir Harry now, isn't it? You've done rather well for yourself, so you have. But good to see you'll still do your utmost to save a colleague in distress. Oh hang on now; maybe that just applies to the beautiful female ones? The guys can fight their own battles, eh Harry?'

'Let her go,' he repeated, more quietly.

'See, Harry, I don't think I can do that. And just so you know, I have a gun to her back, and one of my colleagues nearby has his rifle sights aimed at your head, so don't go trying any funny business now.'

'What do you want?'

'Oh, I'm sorry. Did I not make myself clear? I want you.'

'Sorry, McCann, I'm spoken for.'

'Good to see you've not lost your sense of humour. I think you're going to need it, so you are. Now I have a van parked just round the corner here, and you two are coming with me.'

'Take me, but let her go. She's done nothing to anyone. For fuck's sake, McCann, are you really reduced to picking on innocent women?'

'Innocent? She works for you, Harry. I'm sure MI5 sucked every last drop of innocence out of the wee girl long since. Now walk. And keep your hands where I can see them.'

McCann shoved Jenna and she stumbled, but remained upright. As they rounded the corner, Harry could see a white, unmarked van, the numberplate obscured by mud. This had to be it. He knew that he was fast running out of time, and his options were limited. He had no earpiece, no gun; nothing on him but his wallet and mobile phone.

'So, was the bomb your handiwork then?' he asked.

'Aye.'

'Why? Why there? Why today?'

'Because, Harry Pearce, I knew that on Christmas Day you were more likely to come yourself rather than interrupt your team's day off. After all, the day has never meant much to you, has it? And I knew, too, that Myers was likely to send out the lovely raw recruit rather than risk his own uptight arse.'

Harry paused. 'You know Philip Myers?'

'Keep moving Harry. And quit stalling.'

'But why now? It's been over thirty years, for chrissake.'

''I've spent most of those years in the Maze, thanks to you and the murdering scum that pass for soldiers in the English army. I finally got out this year. Now shut the fuck up.'

They had reached the van. With one hand, McCann opened the rear door and told Jenna to get in. The split second in which he was distracted was Harry's only hope. He lunged for McCann, but the years behind bars had kept him fitter, his reactions quicker, than Harry's years sitting in the Grid had him. As Harry wrestled for the gun, McCann lashed out, sending Harry stumbling backwards.

Before he could react, McCann smashed the butt of the pistol against his skull, and everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to all those of you who are reading - and reviewing, particularly! All comments are very gratefully received.**

**

* * *

**

When Graham reappeared, Ruth was prepping the turkey, all too aware that it was now likely to be Christmas dinner rather than lunch. Somewhat to her surprise, he'd made an effort; he'd showered, shaved, and was wearing a baby pink shirt and black jeans. She hid a smile as she realised he'd also splashed on his father's aftershave. 'You look lovely,' she said.

Graham blushed, which only made him look even more like his father. 'Thank you. You do too,' he added mischievously.

Now it was Ruth's turn to blush. 'Mm, I should really get dressed. But first, breakfast. What can I get you?'

'Bacon rolls and coffee sounds good to me, if it's not too much trouble.'

He sat at the table while Ruth grilled the bacon and put fresh grounds in the cafetiere. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'Hmm?'

'For earlier. For the dummy-pram-compulsory evacuation scenario. It was childish, and it's your Christmas too, and I'm a guest in your house, and...'

'It's fine. Trust me, you have nothing to apologise for.' Ruth flipped the bacon over. 'Actually, it's your dad's house; I still have my own place. So strictly speaking, you have more right to be here than I do. '

'I know which of us he'd rather have here.'

Ruth put the kettle on to boil. 'Graham, you have absolutely no idea just how much it means to him to have you here; how much it means to him that the two of you are beginning to patch things up.' She sighed. 'Look, you know he's worked for the Security Services for most of his adult life, and before that he was in the army. Now, god knows I've seen some...hellish things during my time with Five, and _done_ some hellish things, but your father... Most nights he has nightmares, Graham. Sometimes I have to waken him they're so bad; he's thrashing about, soaked in sweat, shouting gibberish. The nights he has no nightmares are the nights he doesn't sleep. Last night he slept like a baby. Go figure.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

Graham sat in silence as Ruth plated up his rolls then moved across the kitchen to make the coffee. As she placed the steaming mug on the table in front of him, he looked up and met her eyes.

'You know, I once accused him of being a bad man, a bad father, and a bad husband.'

Ruth blew out her cheeks. 'He'd be the first to hold his hand up to numbers two and three.'

'At my thirteenth birthday party I told a room full of friends and family that he destroyed lives for a living. That he was worse than the Gestapo. Dad was there. Funny thing was, he used it as an excuse to beat up Robin.'

_Oh dear god, _thought Ruth. _Poor Harry._

'I've spent most of my life being so _angry _with him. I've no idea how _not_ to be angry with him.'

'Do you want to not be angry with him?'

To her surprise, Graham's eyes filled with tears. As she reached for his hand he forced a wobbly smile. 'He's my dad,' he said quietly. 'He's my dad.'

* * *

The morning drifted into the afternoon. They walked Scarlet, played Scrabble, talked. Graham was good company; witty, erudite, down to earth, with a wealth of stories that Ruth suspected his parents would never hear. Like his father, he was quick to anger; his preferred weapon, though, was words rather than his fists. Like his father, too, a thread running prominently through his many misadventures was his innate resourcefulness. He would, Ruth realised, have made a good spook.

One o'clock. Graham was hunched over the Scrabble board, wishing he'd not offered Ruth a pound a point for the winning margin. Ruth unfurled herself from her armchair. 'I'm just going to call your father. I need to get some idea of when we're going to eat.'

When she returned, Graham was in the process of laying out SOYUZ across the triple word score. He looked up at her, grinning. 'I might just catch you yet.' He caught her troubled face. 'Ruth? What's the matter?'

'His phone's just going to voicemail.'

'Well, he's at work, isn't he? He won't necessarily...'

'As is Jenna's.'

'Same thing applies.'

'I phoned the Grid. He hasn't called in. He's not in Regent Street.'

* * *

Ruth flashed her ID card and with a nod the constable lifted the tape and let them through the cordon.

'Any casualties?' she asked.

'So far as we know it's just one homeless guy who had been sleeping in a shop doorway. It was shops and offices that bore the brunt of it and none of them were open.'

'That's something, I guess. Anyone here from Thames House, do you know?'

The constable pointed up the narrow street to a group of three men deep in conversation. 'Blonde guy in the Drizabone coat. He, er, introduced himself.'

'Philip Myers?'

'That's him.'

Ruth and Graham crossed over towards Phil. At the sound of their footfall all three men looked up. 'Can I help you?' asked the stocky, dark haired man to Phil's left, his tone wary.

'Actually, it's Mr Myers I'm looking for. Can we have a word?'

Myers looked down at her. 'And you are?'

Ruth held up her pass. His only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes. 'Ah. I wasn't aware we'd called in GCHQ. And your friend?'

Graham offered his hand. 'Graham Pearce.'

Myers didn't take it. 'Ah, the wayward son. Dropout, junkie and with more brushes with the police than a sniffer dog. I'm not sure you should be here, frankly.' His cold eyes had turned to Ruth.

'He is here at my request, and I'm not here on GCHQ business. I'm here because both Harry and Jenna should be, yet neither has called in.'

Myers raised an eyebrow. 'Indeed. But then the two of them do have a habit of skulking off together. They're probably ensconced in some B+B somewhere, exchanging...Christmas gifts.'

Ruth barely had time to gawp before Graham grabbed Phil's lapels and rammed him against the wall behind him. 'Say what you like about me, but don't you dare speak about my father like that. You got that?' he snarled.

Ruth reflected afterwards that it was strange that the other two men didn't haul him off; as it was Graham held a dumbfounded Phil against the brickwork for several seconds before heeding her request to let him go.

Phil adjusted his coat. 'Apples never fall far from the tree, do they?' he muttered. 'Now if you don't mind, Ms...Evershed, we do have an investigation to carry out.'

'Your section head and one of your team have been missing for four hours. Don't you think you should do something about that?'

'Frankly, no. Jenna is probably following up a lead somewhere and hasn't had a chance to call in, and Harry, well, I didn't contact him, and there's no evidence that he was ever here.'

'Uh, hold on.' The stocky, dark haired man. 'DCI Rankin, miss.' Ruth shook his hand. 'Do you know if Sir Harry used a pool car this morning or his own?'

'His own. A silver Range Rover.' She reeled off the registration number.

'And the lady...Jenna...do you know her details?'

'Jenna Preston,' said Graham promptly. 'But I've no idea about her car, sorry.'

'Okay, well, we've been checking out all parked cars in the vicinity. I'll see if anything's been found.' He walked away from the group, talking into his radio. Ruth hugged her coat more tightly to her as she watched him, trying to hide her anxiety. The grey light was beginning to fade behind the looming office blocks and the temperature was dropping. If Harry and Jenna were in trouble, time was of the essence. At her side, Graham had his hands shoved into the armpits of his Superdry jacket, and she cursed herself for not offering him one of Harry's coats.

'You look frozen. Do you want to wait in the car?'

'Not bloody likely. Oh, here we go.'

Rankin was coming back towards them, head bent to crackling radio.

'Sir Harry's vehicle is parked in Walker's Court, and a Lexus registered to Thames House is in Smith's Court. Both are off Brewer Street, which is less than five minutes' walk from here. I'm afraid there's no sign of Sir Harry or Ms Preston.'

Ruth turned to Phil. '_Now_ will you do something?'

He hesitated, looking for a moment like he was about to argue, then put his fingers to his earpiece. 'Tariq, do you copy?'


	6. Chapter 6

**I do seem to have it in for Harry, don't I? First I get him stabbed and now this... *hangs head in shame* **

**Thank you very much for reading and for all the lovely reviews so far!  
**

**

* * *

**

As Harry began to come round he wasn't sure what registered first. The cold. The searing pain in his arms. The thumping pain in his head. He groaned.

McCann watched impassively as Harry's eyelids flickered, then slammed the rifle butt into the newly healing wound on his midriff. 'Come on Harry, wakey wakey, it's playtime!'

The force sent Harry swinging backwards and he gasped as much from the realisation that he had no strong foothold as the pain of the blow. Nauseous and disorientated he opened his eyes, willing his brain to make sense of the hazy shapes in front of him and piece together the jigsaw of what was going on. However, it stubbornly refused to register anything other than pain. The rope binding his wrists was gnawing into his flesh, and he had to stand on tiptoes to take any weight off his straining arms. Moreover, mindful of tracking and communication devices, before they switched vehicles McCann's men had stripped him down to his trunks. That the temperature outside was rapidly approaching zero was just an added bonus.

'Jenna,' he muttered, his voice sounding strange to his ears.

'Oh, don't you be worrying about the wee girl now,' grinned McCann, 'my men are taking very good care of her. All I need to do now is think about what I'm going to do with _you_.'

'Let her go,' he repeated, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea threatened to engulf him. 'Do what you want to me. Just let her go.'

Harry tensed as McCann circled him. 'Goodness me, we have been in the wars. Or is that girlfriend of yours a bit of a goer, eh? Does that float your boat, Harry? A bit of pain?'

He stopped directly in front of Harry. The years had been surprisingly kind to McCann. He had the same slim, toned build, the same fresh-faced complexion. The only indication that, like Harry, he wouldn't see fifty again, were the flecks of grey in his hair and the traces of crows feet around his eyes. McCann now tilted Harry's chin up so that those green eyes were boring into Harry's unfocused brown ones.

'I said an eye for an eye, Harry, and I meant it. One down, one to go.'

* * *

As they entered the pods, Ruth could see Tariq sitting with his hands clasped on his head. Never a good sign.

His search had proved fruitless; the bomb had taken out all the neighbouring CCTV. 'I've tried everything I can think of,' Tariq sighed. 'Retrieving backups, rebooting, hacking into private systems, but no go. The one chance we have is that if we check the footage from the cameras before the bomb blast, it might pick up the vehicle Harry and Jenna were abducted in, and number plate recognition might trace it on working CCTV outwith the blast area later.'

'But maybe there was no vehicle,' Graham argued. They could've just been taken to a nearby building.'

'It's possible,' Ruth admitted, 'but I think they'd want to get away from the area. The police will be making door to door enquiries and there's no point in taking unnecessary risks. Tariq, check if any vans have been reported stolen in the last few days; I'll try facial recognition in case that throws anything up.'

As she waited for her Mac to boot up her thoughts drifted to Harry, and the thought that she might never see him again. _Stop it, Ruth_, she told herself, _if you fall to pieces now you'll be no good to anyone, let alone Harry._ One small consolation was that they had an unwritten rule that there were always proper goodbyes. That morning, in the hall, she'd snuggled against him, her arms underneath his coat, and told him that she loved him more than daddy and chips put together. 'Likewise,' he'd said, rather bemused. 'What the hell does that mean?'

'It's a Dimitri-ism', she'd said, as if that explained it. 'He swears by it.'

'Right. Okay, well, I love you more than ever, more than time and more than love,

I love you more than money and more than the stars above,

Love you more than madness, more than waves upon the sea,

Love you more than life itself, you mean that much to me.'

Recognising the lyrics, she'd laughed. 'You old hippy, you.' And the old hippy had kissed her as if they were the only two people on the planet, and they had all the time in the world.

* * *

'Ruth?'

She looked up. Graham stood in front of her desk, clutching a couple of sandwiches and two cardboard beakers of tea, one precariously balanced on top of the other. 'I got you some lunch from the canteen. I thought you must be hungry by now.'

She was touched. 'Thank you.'

The tea was hot and sweet. Perfect. 'Good to know that on the day a bomb goes off in central London the security protocols at Thames House are being so rigorously enforced!' she said wryly.

He laughed. 'I said I was Harry's son, and that I needed to get you something to eat. Worked like a charm.'

Both wrestled with their sandwich cartons, then sat and ate in a companionable silence, the changing images on Ruth's monitor providing a ghostly illumination to her small corner of the Grid.

'Anything yet?' asked Graham eventually.

Ruth shook her head. 'No. But there can't have been that many people about on Christmas morning, so hopefully it won't be that much longer.'

'Is there anything I can do? I don't mean here, necessarily.'

She leaned back in her chair. 'I don't think so, no. Unless you can think of anything your dad has said that might give us an idea of who's done this.'

'Ruth!'

Both heads swivelled round.

'A white transit was stolen in Croydon three days ago. It's on the CCTV as turning into Green's Court just after 7 this morning. Presumably it was parked there as there was no sign of it emerging in Peter Street or Hopkins, or anywhere else round about. Then less than four hours later it's heading north towards Hampstead Heath.'

Ruth walked over to Tariq's desk and stood behind him, scanning the monitor. 'And then?'

'And then we lose it. I've still got the number plate recognition running citywide, but if these guys are pros, and it looks as if they are, chances are they switched vehicles at least once, and probably out of range of CCTV. I'm sorry.'

Graham, slumped beside Ruth's desk, realised that the staccato of light from her monitor had ceased. He leaned forward. On the left hand side of the screen was a photograph of a white, middle aged man with close-cropped brown hair, a nose that had obviously been broken and never properly re-set, and hypnotic green eyes. His lips were a thin, angry line. To the right of the photograph was a screed of text.

'Ruth, the computer's got someone.' He glanced through the biography on the right hand side of the screen. 'Some guy called Patrick McCann.'

* * *

**The lyrics are taken from Bob Dylan's Wedding Song.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Strewth, I've just come across a cast list which has McCann popping up in 1:6; I've never seen the first series and had assumed he only featured in Harry's diary. Lorcan Cranitch isn't remotely how I'd envisaged him either. Ah well, this is all a parallel universe anyway, isn't it?**

**I meant to explain the daddy and chips remark in the last chapter: it refers to a tv commercial for oven chips in which a wee girl is asked which she loves more, daddy or chips. After not very much deliberation, chips get the nod.**

**

* * *

Okay, this is not a nice chapter, so please don't read if you don't like swearing or violence, whether actual or implied.**

**Thanks as ever for reading, and reviewing especially!**

**

* * *

**  
Ruth read the narrative on McCann with growing unease. Harry had occasionally alluded to his time in Northern Ireland, and she suspected that the events of thirty years ago were as responsible for his nightmares as the deaths and betrayals of those he'd worked with since he joined Section D. 'I need to get out the old files on him; I think this is a blast from Harry's past.' She winced. 'Pardon the expression. I won't be long.'

* * *

'Is this my old man's office?'

Tariq looked up. 'Yeah.'

'D'you think I could...?'

'Don't see why not. You won't be able to access anything sensitive, apart from his whisky stash.'

'Nah, he's probably got some laser security device rigged up...motion detectors...'

'Hey, this is low-tech Harry we're talking about. He's strictly a pencil line on the label man.'

Graham laughed. Sliding open the door he went into his father's office. Given that most of it could be seen from the Grid through the glass partition, there were no obvious surprises. Like the outer office it was devoid of any personalisation. Everything was functional, the bits and pieces of Harry's life locked away out of reach. On the corner of his desk lay his diary. Partly justifying it to himself as a possible source of clues but mainly just curious, Graham sat in Harry's chair and flicked through it. The only things that weren't reduced to acronyms, initials or abbreviations were his, Catherine's and Ruth's birthdays, and then inside the back cover he found a sheet of paper. He unfolded it. Each side was covered, one in boys' names, one in girls'; all were written out in full, but only two were circled. James William Pearce and Emma Ruth Pearce. Graham re-folded it and slid it into his back pocket, hoping that he would never have to give it to Ruth.

When he emerged, Tariq beckoned him over, his face grave. 'Watch this. Our Mr McCann earlier today.'

* * *

McCann wondered idly what hypothermia looked like. He suspected that Harry Pearce might imminently provide a case study. The water from the yard standpipe must have been pretty bloody cold and yet Harry had barely reacted when he'd thrown a bucket of it in his face. Well, unless shivering fit to burst could be called reacting. The water had mingled with the blood, and his face and body were now a gruesome canvas of crimson trails, swollen, bloody lacerations, and the tints of coming bruises.

'I should really post this on YouTube, shouldn't I? That seems to be the done thing these days.' McCann was inspecting his handiwork, as if looking for a spot he'd missed.

Harry had long since realised that there was no point in dangling any carrots; the Irishman had no interest in monetary gain, in freeing incarcerated comrades, or in gleaning eyes only intel. There was no point either in appealing to McCann's better nature. He simply wanted to make him suffer as much as possible for as long as possible before he killed him. And however much he could remember of his long-ago field training there seemed little point in planning to overpower McCann and make his escape; from the comings and goings he calculated there were at least four other men with them, and from what little he'd been able to make out of their spartan surroundings he suspected he was in a farm outbuilding, so potentially miles from anywhere. There was the issue, too, of his physical capabilities. If the long hours he'd spent suspended hadn't incapacitated his arms, then he was pretty sure that the repeated Tasering to his neck, his genitals and the soles of his feet had put paid to anything approaching co-ordinated motor skills for the time being. His only hope was to keep alive long enough for Ruth to realise he was missing and for Five to find them.

It was ironic that death had seemed inevitable and yet had eluded him more times than he cared to count when he had had nothing to lose, even when he would almost have welcomed it. Oh, his colleagues would have waxed eloquent lies at his memorial service, but he would have been gradually forgotten as the months passed and the team evolved. His children would have briefly mourned an abstract concept, not a person that they knew or that they would ever miss. All he'd ever been was an occasional fleeting, angry, awkward presence in their lives who invariably left regrets and recriminations in his wake.

And now, he wasn't sure how much more his body could take. Where the limits of Patrick McCann's patience lay. Even if Ruth would just have gritted her teeth and got on with Christmas without him. Yet thirty years late he felt that his life was just beginning. He was finally happy with the only woman he'd ever truly loved. He was going to be a father again. And while he would never now have the chance to make amends with Catherine, it looked like Graham might just be willing to let him be a part of his life and work towards being worthy of his forgiveness.

He screwed up his face, mentally chiding himself. His father's voice rang down through the years: 'self-pity is not an attractive trait, son!' He'd hurt his knee, and hadn't been picked for the school rugby team. His father had only had to say that once. And yet here he was...he could feel the hot, salty tears spilling over.

'Fuck me, I've made the great Harry Pearce cry.' McCann's sour breath rasped against his cheek. 'Thinking of the lovely Ruth, are you, Harry? Thinking about what might have been?' McCann didn't miss the dilation of Harry's pupils at the mention of Ruth's name. 'Ho! Wondering how I know about Miss Evershed, are you, Harry? Well, let me tell you something for nothing. When a man's banged up he needs a hobby, doesn't he? And you were mine.'

Through cracked, bloody lips. 'You must be a right laugh at parties.'

'The life and soul, so I am. But I bet I know more about your sad, pathetic existence than you do. For all you spooks are supposed to be hush hush top secret, your lives are an open fucking book.'

Harry doubted this. 'Who was your source?'

'Tut, tut, Harry. None of your business.'

'Then why wait til now? Why didn't you kill me back in '78 when you had the chance?'

'Well, I didn't have the chance, did I? You buggered off to France sharpish leaving Cooper and the other bastards in Section A to do their worst.' He jabbed the edge of the three iron between Harry's ribs. 'You have something of a talent for that, wouldn't you say? Buggering off and leaving behind a trail of chaos and devastation? Only now...' McCann affected an American accent, 'there's nowhere to run to, and there's nowhere to hide.'

Harry waited for his breathing to slow. 'And what about Jenna? She's never done anything to you. The only chaos and devastation she leaves behind her is broken hearts and middle aged regrets.'

McCann eyed him curiously. 'Have you, then?'

'Have I what?'

'Fucked the girl.'

'You tell me. I thought my life was an open book. Nngh!'

McCann had smashed the club into Harry's kneecap. As Harry writhed he tossed the club into a corner of the room, like a toy fallen out of favour. 'Don't get smart with me, Harry. Anyway, time for dindins, I think. Would you like something?'

The couple of mouthfuls of coffee and the bacon roll of however many hours ago had been thrown up long since, but Harry knew better than to let McCann think he wanted anything. He stared mutely at the brickwork across the room, wincing as another violent bout of shivering chafed his wrists against the rope.

'Suit yourself.'

The light went out, then he heard the door close and the bolt forced home.

'Come on, Ruth,' he whispered. 'Please...'


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry, I know some of you are not happy that I'm giving poor Harry such a hard time, but I hope you'll stick with it! Thanks for all the reviews; I'm very grateful for them, and glad that a few of you at least are enjoying this!  
**

**Unfortunately, it's likely to be a week or so before I'm able to update again, so Happy Christmas to you all!**

**

* * *

**  
It took a second for it to dawn on Graham what he had just seen. McCann, barely recognisable with a baseball cap and football scarf obscuring most of his features, had deposited his holdall in the shop doorway and walked on, barely breaking his stride.

Waggling his finger at the screen he turned to Tariq.'There...that...that street was cordoned off...the bomb...was that the bomb?'

'I'd put a year's salary on it,' Tariq muttered. 'I'd better let Phil and CTC know.'

Dazed, Graham sank back in his chair as the ramifications sank in. It looked as if the goon who'd snatched his father and Jenna was the bomber. And given that he seemingly knew Harry of old...'The bomb was a trap,' he whispered. 'McCann was prepared to bomb central fucking London to lure dad into a trap! How much do you need to hate someone in order to do _that_?'

He heard Tariq say 'Hang on just a sec,' and then, turning to him, 'Say what?'

Graham swallowed. 'I think McCann planted the bomb with the intention of luring my dad there and snatching him. Christmas Day; he must've known he'd go himself rather than sending one of his team.'

Tariq stared at him for a moment, then repeated the theory to Myers. Graham was trying to hear what the response was, but Ruth re-appearing weighed down with manilla folders distracted him. At the sight of Tariq deep in conversation she stopped dead. 'What's happened?'

Graham relieved her of the bundle. 'It looks like McCann's the bomber. Ergo...'

'He planted the bomb to get Harry.'

Their eyes met.

'My thoughts exactly,' said Graham, quietly.

'Ohh god.'

Ruth had gone white as a sheet. Dropping the folders onto the nearest desk Graham grabbed her arm. 'Woah. Are you okay?'

She sagged against him. 'Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Just a bit...' She didn't protest as Graham ushered her into a chair and hunkered down in front of her.

'Sorry, but you look awful. I should take you home. Dad would never forgive me if...'

'I can't go home, Graham, I've got to find him.'

'Tariq's just on the phone to Myers. He has to take it seriously now, and with the police and whoever else involved, we can manage without you.'

To his consternation he realised Ruth was on the verge of tears. He clasped his hands over hers in a gesture curiously reminiscent of his father. 'Hey. Hey. We'll find them. I promise you. We'll find them.'

She nodded and slid her hands out from under his. 'Those files...there should be a list of PIRA safe houses somewhere. Can you have a look?'

Across the Grid Tariq hung up. 'Myers is notifying CTC and then he's coming in.'

Ruth gave him a grateful smile. 'Thanks Tariq. I'll have a root through the files and see what else I can find out about McCann.'

'Ruth...'

'Oh for god's sake, Graham, I'm pregnant, not ill!' Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tariq's head shoot up. 'Tariq, you didn't hear that.'

'Yes, I did. Congratulations!'

'Thank you, but please...we're not...look, please don't say anything. We'll tell everyone after Christmas. It's just that we're still getting used to the idea.' _We? We. Oh please god, let it still be we._

'Hey, no worries. But you know, I did think your boobs were bigger.'

'Tariq! Graham, that's not funny.'

The technician held his hands up. 'It's just that if I've noticed, chances are everyone else has.'

'Yeah, but you weren't thinking pregnancy, you were thinking implants.'

'Oh, do shut up, Graham.' Ruth turned away so he wouldn't see that she was smiling. 'Now can we please get on with this?'

* * *

'Ms Evershed, Ruth, a word please.'

She looked up. Myers. Before she could respond he was half way to the meeting room. Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl being taken to see the headmaster, she followed him.

'That's...' she blurted out. _Harry's seat, _she wanted to say. 'a nice tie,' she finished, lamely.

Myers raised an eyebrow. 'Right. Now, I know I agreed for you to come back here to assist Tariq; I don't remember saying the same of Graham Pearce.'

'He's Harry's son. And he's been a big help; he...'

'He's a civilian, who, given his extensive police record, would fail the most basic vetting process at the first hurdle. And not only did you bring him into the Grid, putting the security team in a difficult position, but you've got him working on classified files?'

'They're long since closed. He's looking for details of PIRA safehouses, that's all.'

'I don't care. Get him out of here now. And make sure you escort him to the pavement. Do I make myself clear?'

'But we need him! Do you really want to recall Beth and Dimitri from their one day off with their families?'

'I already have; they're on their way in. Now, are you going to escort Mr Pearce off the premises or do I need to call security?'

* * *

'Tariq, this is all the safehouses in the London area, can you run a check on them please? See if any are still possibles.'

'Sure.' As if taking orders from Graham was the most natural thing in the world.

'Have you managed to find out anything?'

'Well, he flew from Dublin to Heathrow just over two weeks ago, under the name of Michael Halloran. I've got him on CCTV getting a taxi and I'm just waiting on the taxi firm getting back to us with where he got dropped off.'

'Do they keep records of that?'

Tariq grinned. 'This firm does.'

Graham was aware of Ruth at his elbow. He turned, smiling, but the smile froze when he saw her face.

'What's wrong?'

'I'm afraid Myers doesn't want you here. I've to escort you outside, presumably to prevent your raping, murdering, pillaging and selling secrets to the Russians between here and the front door.'

He opened his mouth to argue, but realised that would only make life more difficult for Ruth.

'Here's the car keys, and the house keys. I'm sorry, and thanks for...' she took a deep, rather wobbly, breath, and Graham pulled her into his arms. 'He'll be fine,' he assured her. 'Tariq's checking out the old safehouses, get him to send the police to recce the ones that are still there. We'll find them.'

* * *

Outside Thames House, Graham again tried to persuade Ruth to come with him, but he knew he was on a hiding to nothing.

'At least let me know what's going on then?'

She nodded. 'Okay. Can you remember your way back to the car?'

'Yeah, back to the house is a different matter though...'

'It's on the satnav. Do you know how to work it?'

'I'll figure it out.'

'Okay. And help yourself to whatever you need.'

Awkwardly, hesitantly, he bent and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 'Will do. I'll see you both later, yeah? And don't forget to have something to eat.'

Ruth gave a fragile little smile, and turned and went back inside.

Graham crossed the road, and headed round the corner. Only then did he reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he scanned the list of addresses, one by one.


	9. Chapter 9

**Finally! Thank you all for your patience and the lovely reviews. Do keep them coming - and brickbats are welcome too, if they're constructive. ;)  
**

**Disclaimers still apply.**

**

* * *

**

Back at Harry's house Graham raided the kitchen, the study, and was trying his luck with his father's safe when the phone rang.

She was as good as her word. 'Ruth? What's the latest?'

'For various reasons we're down to seven possible safehouses.' She reeled off the street names. 'However, the taxi didn't go anywhere near any of them.'

Scribbling furiously. 'Where did it go?'

'Paddington. Tariq has him on CCTV buying tickets for Cardiff, Plymouth and Leeds.'

'Crafty bugger. So which one did he get?'

'He didn't. He went to get on the Leeds train then insinuated himself into the crowd coming off the incoming one and left the station on foot. We have footage of him for half a mile then he disappears.'

Graham sighed. 'Can we assume he is still in London then? At least that would narrow it down.'

'In London, or someplace in the South East would be my guess.'

'So are the plods checking out the seven addresses?'

She hesitated.

'Ruth?'

'Not yet. Christmas Day, resources are thin on the ground, and they're not convinced this isn't a decoy, that the bombers don't have something bigger planned.'

'What? Well, if that's the case, why aren't they making resources a little thicker on the ground and checking out all the leads? Haven't they seen the CCTV footage from this morning? Doesn't that tally with the forensics on the location of the bomb?'

Suddenly feeling a wave of weariness wash over her, Ruth leaned back in her chair. 'I'm just telling you what Myers said, Graham, and I'm sure he's given them everything we've got. He'd be playing a rather dangerous game if he didn't.'

Graham gave a very Harry-like snort.

'Look, I've got to go. Beth's just walked in so I'd best bring her up to speed. I'll call you later.'

'Okay. Bye.' Graham hung up and turned his attention back to the safe in front of him. _Right, _he told himself, _one more shot then I'm out of here. _He pondered for a moment, then keyed in six digits. Somewhat to his surprise the light on the display glowed green. 'I don't believe you, dad,' he muttered, as he depressed the handle and the door swung open. 'Two kids, a girlfriend you love to bits and you choose the birth date of your bloody dog?'

As he'd expected, his father's gun was in the safe, along with a clip of bullets. Rather apprehensively he lifted it out, surprised at its weight, and after some tentative fumbling that would have meant a very shortlived life in the Wild West, he established that the chamber was full. Tipping the bullets out into his palm he squirrelled them into his jeans pocket along with the spare clip, and with renewed confidence shoved the gun into the back of his waistband. Picking up his backpack he then headed downstairs.

One last thing. 'Scarlet!' he called. Silence, and then there was a scrabbling of claws as she rounded the corner into the hall and launched herself at his knees. Laughing, Graham crouched down and ruffled her head. 'Okay, girl, you're coming with me. Just stop bouncing for a sec, yeah?' Reaching for her collar he loosened the split rings that attached her microchip and address tags and eased them off. 'Right, that's you anonymous, like all good spy dogs,' he grinned. He flipped on his baseball cap, swapped his jacket for a short winter coat of his father's, then clipping on Scarlet's lead he switched off the lights and let her drag him out of the house.

* * *

Even with the satnav and the relatively light traffic, it took him nearly forty minutes to find the first address, in a run down terrace in the east end. He parked round the corner then unclipped Scarlet's lead and shoved it under the passenger seat. The dog whined softly, all too aware that this wasn't one of her and Harry's usual jaunts. Murmuring reassurances Graham unbuckled his belt and slid it off, then fed one end under Scarlet's collar, fashioning a loop with the buckle. 'Probably not very comfortable old girl, but needs must,' he told her. He retrieved Harry's binoculars from the backpack, then opening his door he stepped out. Scarlet, at the end of her makeshift lead, scampered after him.

As they reached the corner he scanned the houses round about. All were either in darkness, or merely had chinks of light edging curtains firmly closed against the cold, damp night. Although he could hear the distant murmur of traffic, the streets around him were deserted.

'Scarlet, sit.' He grinned as the dog's backside whumped onto the cracked tarmac, all too aware that while Harry commanded instant, unquestioning obedience on the Grid, his dog generally required a bit more persuading.

With the end of the belt trapped under his boot he focused the binoculars on the safehouse. It looked like an upstairs room and the living room were occupied. An old, rather dented, Peugeot hatchback was parked outside, in one of two long rows of nondescript family cars. Tucking the binoculars into an inside pocket of his coat, he bent to pick up Scarlet's lead. With one last deep breath and a silent prayer to a god he'd long since given up on, Graham headed round the corner and across the road, the little dog trotting happily by his side.

* * *

On the pretext of looking for information about splinter cells operating outwith London, Ruth ushered Beth down to the Registry, and out of range of Myers' flapping ears told her of the day's events. The younger woman listened in silence, a frown occasionally creasing her brow. 'Okay,' she said quietly when Ruth was finished. 'What do you need me to do?'

'See if you can find any trace of Michael Halloran, or of any of McCann's other known aliases and associates. See if you can find any chatter about another bomb being planned. I'm just...'

'Going home?' prompted Beth, gently.

'What? No, I...'

'Ruth, forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, but you look exhausted and if I suspected as much before I'm bloody sure now. You're pregnant, aren't you?'

Ruth felt her eyes brim with tears. Mortified, cheeks burning, she could only nod. Beth's face lit up. 'But that's wonderful! Congratulations!'

To her consternation Ruth promptly burst into tears. 'Oh, come here.' She wrapped her arms around her. 'What's wrong? Well, apart from the fine mess Harry's got himself into.'

'I'm sorry,' mumbled Ruth into her shoulder. 'Bloody hormones.' She disentangled herself and searched in vain up her sleeves for a tissue.

'Here.' Beth profferred a hankie from her trouser pocket. 'It's clean. Now what's the problem?'

'Ohh,' Ruth raised her mascara-smeared eyes heavenwards. 'He was horrified when I told him I was pregnant. He's been there, done that, and he'd planned to spend his 60s indulging his grandchildren for brief periods, not going through the sleepless nights and nappy changing rigmarole with another of his own.' She gave a tremulous smile. ' That said, I rather suspect he'd be doing all that for the first time, not the third.'

Beth grinned. 'No offence, but I think you're probably right.' She paused. 'Harry'll come round. As soon as he holds the baby in his arms for the first time he'll be smitten, I promise you.'

'He's going to have his arms rather fuller than that. It's twins.'

Beth's eyes widened. 'Blimey, you two don't do things by half, do you? Well, he'll just be doubly smitten.' She squeezed Ruth's arm. 'But no wonder you're knackered. Please, go home. Tariq and I can cope, and Dimitri should be here anytime now.'

Ruth shook her head. 'I'm fine.' She toed a nearby kickstool further down the racks. 'The Irish files from the 70s are down here. You check them, I'll see what I can find on splinter cells; keep Myers happy.'

* * *

Somehow, Harry slept. He dreamed fractured, surreal dreams; of Ruth, of faces from his past. He didn't hear the approaching footsteps, the bolt rattling, the door creaking open. McCann grabbing his chin brought him to with a start.

'Sweet dreams, Harry?'

With an effort, Harry parted his parched, bloodied lips. 'Fuck off, McCann.'

The Irishman smiled thinly. 'You know what, Harry? I'm a bit bored of all this now.' As McCann stepped back, Harry saw he carried a pistol with a silencer in his other hand. _Oh Christ,_ he thought. _This is it. This is finally it. Ruth, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

His eyes boring into Harry's, McCann raised the pistol and fired.


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, a bit ahead of schedule. Thank you for reading - and for the lovely reviews. Here's hoping this chapter doesn't go AWOL like others have today...**

**Disclaimers...yaddah, yaddah, yaddah.**

**

* * *

**

The bullet sheared cleanly through the rope, and in the split second before the frayed ends snapped, Harry desperately tried to ready himself. However, the cold and the long hours suspended had leached all the strength from his limbs and his knees buckled, pitching him forward. Unable to raise his arms in front of him to break his fall, all he could do was curl his head into his chest and he hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Despite himself he cried out, a cry that was curtailed as McCann booted him hard in the ribs.

'Get up.'

Dazed, gasping for breath, Harry was going nowhere.

'Get him up.'

Two of McCann's men emerged from the shadows, and reaching under Harry's arms they hauled him upright. As his feet flailed, trying to find purchase on the stone floor, they unceremoniously dragged him outside. Flinching as the cold air hit him, the depths of the darkness instantly registered; this was not the sodium-bleached night-time of the city. There was no wind; no susurration of trees or nearby streams. But for the crunch of his captors' boots on the frozen ground, the silence too was absolute.

The building they entered smelled of damp and long abandonment. He briefly saw a dilapidated, dimly lit room, the only furniture an old pine table and four rickety chairs; a scrap of curtain trailed over the cracked, grimy window and the fireplace was cold, grey and empty, the chimney no doubt blocked with birds' nests and the detritus of years. At the far end of the building they unbolted a wooden door that a child would have been able to kick open; that this wasn't an issue was explained by the two men holding Harry upright while McCann lashed his wrists together behind his back with cable ties. Mindful of the gouges inflicted by the rope, he made sure to pull them tight. Harry was then manhandled, stumbling, through the doorway.

The room was in darkness, the one window boarded over. As Harry's eyes adjusted to the gloom they made out a chest of drawers, and, in the far corner, an old horsehair mattress partially covered by a thin quilt. His pulse quickened as he realised that the quilt was cooried round an unconscious form. Jenna. Before he could react, he felt a scratch at the base of his neck, and as McCann depressed the plunger, everything went black.

* * *

After the third ring, Graham heard movement, then the chain rattled and the door slid ajar. An elderly face, crowned by an orange paper hat, appeared in the gap. Graham gave his most trustworthy smile. 'Hello! Sorry to disturb your Christmas, but I found this dog wandering by the canal and some lads reckoned she belongs to you...?' The head shook, and the door closed, brooking no argument. Scarlet looked up at Graham, as if unimpressed with his cunning plan. 'Don't think so, do you?' he whispered, and they turned and retraced their steps to the car.

Number two was a flat above a dry cleaners...nobody home, no signs of recent occupancy...number three was now a residential care home. Four was on the eleventh floor of a tower block; two of the smaller residents would have been delighted to take Scarlet as a late Christmas present, and heck, she was anybody's for a ride in a car and a biscuit, but again Five's intel was obviously sorely out of date. As he trudged back down the stairs, Scarlet wriggling in his arms, he glanced at his watch. Nearly 10pm. Time for one, maybe two more, then he'd have to call it a night.

* * *

'Hey Ruth.' He forced levity into his voice that was a million miles from how he felt.

'Hi. How's it going?'

'Well, Scarlet's all walked out, that's about all I can say. Anything to report?'

'Dimitri and Beth are out ruining the Christmas of some of McCann's accomplices. I've been going through recent chatter but so far nothing about any more bombs or resurgent cells. And Halloran seems to be a dead end, ditto the white transit.' She paused as a bout of nausea overtook her. 'Tariq...Tariq's in the process of hacking into all the email accounts, phone calls and voicemails of everyone we know of with PIRA sympathies or connections but it's all taking time, and...'

'What about Myers? What's he doing?'

Ruth sighed. 'He went home about eight. Said we should call him if we get any strong leads.'

Graham frowned. 'Okay, well, I'm going to put myself in my dad's shoes and do something I should've done hours ago.'

'Sorry?'

'Take you home. Fireman's lift stylee if I have to.'

'Graham, I'm not going anywhere, and I'm certainly not leaving Tariq on his own. There's a load of chatter still to go through and I couldn't...hey...!'

Ruth's voice faded out and then seconds later Tariq came on the line. 'Graham? Tariq. Listen, Evershed is dead on her feet and I've got a couple of guys from Section A helping out so we've got everything covered here. Where are you?'

'Right outside.'

Tariq grinned. 'Good man. I'll deliver her to you in five minutes.'

Ruth didn't have the energy to protest, and when even Tariq weighed in about the babies' welfare, she conceded defeat, giving him an unexpected Christmas kiss and wending her way to the pods. Blushing furiously, the young tech watched the door beyond close behind her, then settled back down to his work.

She was asleep within five minutes of their setting off, and oblivious to the comings and goings as Graham let Scarlet into the house then came back for her, gently lifting her from the front seat and carrying her inside. Kicking the front door shut, he hushed Scarlet, who seemed to be thinking this was some new and exciting game. Slowly, he made his way upstairs, trying to avoid creaking floorboards, and edged into his father's bedroom. As he laid her on top of the duvet she murmured 'Oh Harry,' and gave a very seductive, dimply smile, prompting Graham's cheeks to colour as Tariq's had a few minutes earlier. He eased her handbag strap over her head and off, then contemplated how much further he should go. Boots. They were knee length and reached well above the bottom of her skirt, but... Swallowing hard he fumbled for the tab of the zipper and pulled it down. Ruth stirred, but didn't waken. Cupping the heel he slid the boot off, then repeated the process with the other one. With a sigh of relief he folded the other half of the duvet over her and left her to sleep.

* * *

'Harry? Harry! Are you alright? Harry!'

'Ruth,' he murmured, and tried to reach for her, the searing pain in his wrists jolting him into consciousness. Groggy, disorientated, he gazed at the silhouette kneeling in front of him. 'Ruth?'

'Harry, it's me, Jenna. Are you okay?'

'No,' he said finally, 'not really.' He could sense she was trembling. 'You?'

'I'll live. Harry, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should've shouted, warned you off...'

'Don't be absurd. He would've...killed us both.' He was faintly alarmed by how laboured his breathing was, how much effort it took to string a few words together. 'This is my past...coming back to...haunt me. I'm the one who...should be sorry.' He was vaguely aware of Jenna sitting back on her heels then standing up. Moments later she was back down beside him, raising his head, tilting a plastic bottle against his dry lips.

'Drink,' she instructed him. 'But not too much too quickly or you'll be sick.'

He sipped at the tepid water, tentatively at first, then more greedily. His head lolled back, heavy in her hand. 'Laphroaig has never...tasted so good,' he whispered.

In the thin light that leaked through the gaps in the boards he could see the concern in her eyes. He forced a smile. 'Looks worse than it is. Promise.'

Then she was up again, and banging on the door. 'Hey! He needs a hospital! Hey!' He wondered idly why they hadn't tied her up, and wished that she'd kept quiet. Letting McCann know that they were both awake was akin to poking a sleeping lion with toothache with a sharp stick. No good could possibly come of it.

The bolt was released and the door swung open. As the daylight flooded in he heard her breath catch in her throat. 'Oh my god, Harry! What have they...what have they...!' She turned to their guard, who was pointing an AK47 at her midriff. 'What have you _done_ to him, you bastard?' For her pains he swung the rifle butt at her jaw and she crumpled to the floor. For the first time Harry registered that, like him, she'd been stripped to her underwear. His horrified eyes took in the cigarette burns on her breasts and stomach; the bruising on her face and arms and thighs, and he felt his insides constrict.

_I'll make sure you pay for this, McCann, _he thought,_ if it's the last thing I do._

_

* * *

_**Apologies to any of you who think Ruth is being a bit 'weak 'n' helpless female'. I'm thinking it's a combination of the pregnancy hormones and Harry's shenanigans of a few weeks ago - check out _Moving On_ if you don't know what on earth I'm wittering on about. ;)**_  
_


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the delay folks; a combination of real life getting in the way, flip flopping about the next chapter, and being really unsure about this one. Anyway, I thought I'd best just get something down. Thank you muchly again for the reading / reviewing / favouriting, and hopefully Ch12 won't be too long in coming. Apart from Jenna and a handful of thugs, I own nothing.**

* * *

The commotion roused the others, and once more Harry found himself being dragged to his feet. This time they were taken to the living room he'd briefly glimpsed the day before, and he and a semi-conscious Jenna were dumped onto two of the wooden chairs. A radiant heater glowed in the corner. Harry's spirits momentarily lifted at the thought of some warmth on his skin, then it dawned on him it may just be another resource in McCann's armoury of torture implements. Perhaps hypothermia wasn't so bad after all.

McCann, clad in faded jeans and a black turtleneck, lounged against the wall, arms folded.

'Ah, Harry, top o' the morning to you, as they say. Did you sleep well?'

Harry rolled his head up to look at him. 'Like a baby...thanks, McCann. And what's on our... fun-filled itinerary for today?'

'Oh well, now, I'm glad you asked that.' McCann ambled across the room and slapped Jenna hard, snapping her head back. Blearily, she opened her eyes, blood trickling from her nostril. Harry tensed, forcing himself not to react.

'Tie her up, and untie him.'

One of the men pulled Jenna's arms between the struts in the chair back and cable tied her wrists together, then lashed her ankles to the chair legs. She flinched, but said nothing. Harry, wondering what on earth was going on, felt the cable tie around his wrists snap. Wincing, he eased his arms forward and rested them on his thighs, noticing with relief the sensations as the circulation in his hands began returning to normal.

'Right, so. I told you it was an eye for an eye, didn't I, Harry?'

'I think the Provos...are well ahead on...that score. Especially if you count...all the innocent civilians you butchered.'

'You think? Well, all I know is that you killed two of my best men and thus far I've only killed one of yours, isn't that right, Harry?'

Harry said nothing.

'Bill...Crombie. That old soak.'

Harry's mouth twitched.

'So, like I said, one down, one to go.'

Harry's head reared up. 'Just shoot me and be done, McCann. Then we're more than all square, even by your psychomaths.'

'Oh no, Harry, that would be too...easy.'

Jenna, shaking whether from cold or fear or a mixture of both, whimpered. Harry reached for her, only to get a rifle jabbed into his collarbone, pushing him back into his seat.

'McCann, she's just an office worker...fresh out of university. Don't drag her into our fight. If you want a scalp, have mine. Section Head in MI5? Come on. That's a prize. Surely.'

McCann carried on as if Harry hadn't spoken. 'Y'see, what I have here, Harry, is a gun with one bullet in it. And just to remind you of the _psychomaths, _there are five of us here, with five rifles and magazines full of bullets, and little old you with the one. So don't go getting any funny ideas, hm?'

Harry stared at the gun as if hypnotised. _No, surely not, no... _He swallowed hard.

'Anyway, I have no further use for the girl; like you say, she's just a raw desk spook. So you're going to be the one shuffling off her mortal coil, Harry. Now isn't that just delicious?'

_Oh dear god._

He forced himself to look at Jenna. Her breathing was fast and shallow. As she looked up at him a lone tear tracked down her cheek. 'It's okay, Harry,' she whispered, 'it's okay.'

Harry shook his head. 'N-no. I won't do it. For god's sake, that's barbaric!'

'Well, the thing is Harry, the girl's number is up. And you can choose...a quick death by your hand, or a slow, painful one by mine. First option, we're all square. Second option...' he waggled his hand, 'we're not quite. At that point, I might as well continue what I've started with your favourite desk spook...'

'You b...' Despairingly, Harry lunged at McCann, only for his knee to give way beneath him, sending him tumbling to the ground. As he cried out he was hauled upright and shoved back onto the chair.

'Ah, old age is a terrible thing, so it is. Right, we've established you're fit for nothing, old son, but I think your trigger finger should still work just fine. Now, are you going to behave?'

'I won't do it. If you have...one shred of humanity left in you...'

McCann stood behind Harry, and bending over him hissed into his ear. 'An open book, Harry, remember? And once I've made the lovely Ms Evershed wish she'd never set eyes on you, well, there's the prodigal son, isn't there? He's back in London, isn't he, Harry? Now there's an easy target if ever there was one. More than one way to skin that particular cat, wouldn't you say?' He straightened. 'Now, if you just do as you're told, no funny business, it's even stevens, game over. You got me?'

'It'll never be game over, McCann. I'll make sure of that.'

In response, the Irishman slapped the gun into Harry's palm. 'I don't really think you're in a position to be making threats, Harry. You have one shot. You know what to do.'

* * *

Graham leaned back against the headrest. Seven addresses checked out and none of them looked remotely like potential safehouses, whatever a safehouse looked like. Despondent, he phoned Ruth. She was still ploughing through chatter and recent, previously discounted, threat reports for something, anything; although it seemed like the UK cells were either dormant or long since disbanded. Myers had put Tariq back on operational duties, and he himself was out schmoozing politicians at some Boxing Day do at Admiralty House. Before he left, Ruth told Graham, very matter of factly, Myers had informed her that he couldn't possibly spare Beth and Dimitri after the Bank Holiday; they had 24 hours and then Harry and Jenna's disappearance would be referred to the Met as a Mis Pers enquiry. Although whether they would decide it was anything other than a middle aged man having a middle aged crisis with his young and beautiful underling was another matter entirely.

Graham gave a gasp of incredulity. 'I'll punch his fucking lights out! Who the hell...'

'It's okay, Graham. The DG may think differently. He does at least know Harry, after all. But the problem is that McCann is obviously working alone, or at least not with anyone we've come across before.'

'But how can three people just disappear into thin air?'

'It's been barely 24 hours,' said Ruth, gently. 'They're bound to turn up sooner or later.' Like Bill Crombie, she thought. Harry and Belfast MI5 had searched high and low for him for days and then his body was dumped, mutilated and blow torched beyond recognition, outside his own flat. She closed her eyes.

'Maybe I should check out some of the other addresses on the list. You never know.'

'Graham, they've all been bulldozed for supermarkets or car parks or whatever. There's no point.'

'No offence, but according to the Security Services, Oakview Residential Home is a hotbed of republican dissidents, with linen cupboards full of Semtex and kneecappings if you complain about the semolina.'

Ruth smiled. 'Fair point. Okay, but be careful. Please.'

* * *

'Milos, get that camping stove fired up will you? I fancy a cuppa.' McCann stretched his legs up onto the table with a satisfied sigh of a job well done. His reverie was interrupted by the sound of banging on the front door. Instantly he was on his feet, gun in hand. He beckoned to the guard standing beside the fireplace. 'See who that is, son, and send them packing. Politely.' As the man did as he was bid, McCann stood to the side of the living room door, back against the wall, gun at the ready. He heard the front door open, the low murmur of voices, then it closed once more.

'Who was it, Goran?' he asked, as the young man returned to the living room.

He shrugged. 'Some guy...with a dog. He said he found her wandering on the road and wondered if she belonged to us.'

'What?' Swiftly McCann crossed the room, and brushing the remnants of curtain aside scanned the back yard. Nothing. He waited. 'Go check out the front window, make sure he's gone.'

* * *

Graham looked down at Scarlet, whining and agitated at the end of her improvised lead. 'What is it, old girl?' he whispered. As he turned from the door his grip on the belt loosened and the dog shot off towards the corner of the building. 'Woah,' he cried, 'come here!' Scarlet's legs may not have been the longest, and they were not as young as they'd once been, but she could still shift, and she was round in the back yard before Graham managed to grab her. As he dragged her, protesting, back the way they'd come, he noticed a black van parked in front of a dilapidated corrugated iron shed. 'Come on,' he said quietly, wrapping the belt round his hand. 'Let's go.'

He waited til they were half a mile down the road, then phoned Ruth.

* * *

'He's gone.'

'You're sure?'

'Yep.'

'Still, I have a bad feeling in my water about this. Time to move on, I think.' He turned to Milos, who'd just walked into the room carrying a tray full of steaming mugs. 'Sorry, Milos. We're out of here, as our friends across the pond would say. Get everything together, then torch the place.'

'What about the...'

McCann waved his hands expansively. 'What about them? Leave them where they are. We'll just save MI5 the cost of the cremations.'

* * *

**Have just noticed my exclamation marks are getting wiped. Anyone have any bright ideas how to prevent that? This isn't exactly a standup routine, but the odd one would be handy.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hmm, not sure the last chapter went down terribly well. Anyway, probably one more after this, then an epilogue. Thanks to all those still reading, and thanks for all the reviews. Kudos own most of this, though Lassie's creators might disagree with that. **

~o00o~

Myers pinched his eyelids between thumb and forefinger.

'So let me get this straight. You want me to send in the cavalry on the basis of a van carrying the number plates of a Honda Civic, and someone being in a run down house that was possibly used by the IRA twenty years ago, and which is on land that has been sold for redevelopment?'

'And Scarlet...'

'And a yappy dog. Ms Evershed, have you any idea how preposterous that sounds?'

'It may sound preposterous, but it's the only lead we've got.'

He gave an exasperated snort. 'It's not a lead, it's the drug-fuelled fantasies of a recidivist who's read too many _Boy's Own_ stories.'

Ruth's voice was dangerously quiet. 'That is uncalled for. And given the little matter of yesterday's bomb, don't you think CTC will want to know about any possible links, however tenuous?'

'Frankly, no. Look, if you want to send Dimitri and Beth over there to investigate, feel free; if they find anything, then we'll reconsider.'

'Reconsider?'

But the line was dead.

Carefully Ruth put the handset back in the cradle, and took a deep breath.

'What did he say?'

Her eyes remained fixed on her phone. 'He thinks it would be a wild goose chase.'

Tariq folded his arms. 'So what are you going to do?'

'Ask Beth and Dimitri to check it out.'

'But they're in Hillingdon just now, aren't they? The safehouse is north of Waltham Forest. It'll take them forever to get there. Can't we call in a favour with the local plods? Or at least see what CTC think?'

'I'm going to call Beth, then organise a pool car and get over there.' She hesitated. 'I'd better get something from the weapons store, just in case.'

'Woah, hang on a minute, this is not a job for an analyst, far less a pregnant one.'

'I'm pregnant, Tariq. I don't have a target on my chest.'

'But...'

'And I'm hardly likely to take any stupid risks, am I?'

'Eh, hello? Going anywhere near this place seems like a pretty stupid risk to me, and Harry would have my guts for garters if I let you go. Look, why don't you phone Beth, and I'll see if I can get the safehouse up on satellite; you can monitor things that way.'

Ruth's eyes blazed. 'Tariq, if I wanted to be patronised I'd stay in bloody Cheltenham. Yes, get it up on satellite, but if you think I'm going to sit on the Grid when there's a possibility that Harry is being held in that house, you want your bumps feeling.'

She picked up her phone and hit speed dial. 'Beth, it's Ruth.'

Suitably chastened, Tariq headed back to his desk. As he logged into the satellite feed, an icon flashed up on his desktop. He clicked on it, and read the accompanying message. 'Oh hell,' he breathed. He glanced across at Ruth, who was still on the phone, then turned his attention back to the satellite feed, clicking the button on his pen against his teeth as he waited for images from the area of the safehouse to appear. He said nothing when she hung up. Nothing as she walked past his desk en route to the weapons store. When she finally re-emerged, trying to work out how to put on a holster, he called her over.

'What?' She was still narked with him.

'When Graham gave me the list of the safehouses, I set up an All Forces Alert for them all. Standard procedure, just in case we go treading on anyone else's toes.' He paused. 'A 999 call has been logged for the steading. For the fire brigade. Too much of a coincidence, don't you think?'

Ruth stared at him. 'Have...have you got the satellite feed yet?'

Tariq nodded. 'It's just up. Going by the smoke, the building's well alight.' He sat back to let her see the monitor.

'Where's the van? I don't see any van. Tariq, I don't see any van.'

'My guess is they torched the place then legged it.'

Her breathing was ragged. 'Find that bloody van, Tariq. Use the satellite, use number plate recognition, I don't care what, just find that bloody van.'

'I'll let Traffic know too. They can keep a look out.'

Ruth nodded her thanks, and grabbing her jacket and mobile phone ran to the pods. By the time she reached the pavement, the pool car was drawing up to the kerb. As she sped north east, she switched on the hands free and called Graham. The phone rang out, then diverted to voicemail. Hoping he just hadn't heard it, despite her instructions to stay put til she called him, she waited five minutes then called him again. No response.

'Graham, if you're busy playing the hero, I'll bloody kill you,' she muttered. But deep down, she half hoped that he was.

~o00o~

Out of Greater London, and she relied on the Sat Nav, but from more than a mile away it was all too obvious where she was headed. A thick, black pall of smoke hung in the winter air. And then there was fire engines and ambulances and oh god, her car. She slowed and desperately scanned the roadside for any sign of Graham. A policeman was flagging her down. She eased to a stop and slid the window down. As the impossibly young face, rigid with formality, appeared in the gap she held up her pass. 'I think three of my colleagues may be in that building,' she said, monotone. She saw a flicker of 'oh, fuck' in his eyes, then his training kicked in. He indicated where she should park, and told her he'd take her to the Fire Chief. As they walked up the last stretch of road towards the steading, she could see firefighters damping down the fire in the outbuildings and inspecting the charred remains of the safehouse. A shuddering sob escaped, but her pace didn't falter. The Crew Commander saw them approach and moved away from his colleagues, looking at her, expecting her to speak. The policeman told him. He frowned. 'Three? The gentleman over there who called it in told us possibly two. Do you think there's three?' Ruth's eyes followed the direction of his finger, towards an ambulance, back doors open. Huddled inside, blackened, dishevelled, a blanket askew round his shoulders, was the unmistakeable figure of Graham.

As if on autopilot, Ruth turned and walked towards him. She was halfway there when he looked up and saw her. 'Ruth!' he croaked. Brushing aside the restraining arm of the paramedic he stepped out of the vehicle, and then he was holding her, and saying 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't, I tried, I just couldn't, it was too...it was too hot, it was...petrol, I think, I...'

She eased out of his arms. 'Are they in there? Do you know for sure they're in there?'

Numb, Graham shook his head. 'The van's gone. Maybe they've taken them someplace else. Or maybe they're in there. But they can't have survived it, Ruth, they can't...I mean,_ look_ at it!'

She cupped his face in her hands. 'They're made of strong stuff. They both are. Wherever they are, they'll be fine.' Aware of footsteps behind them, she let her hands fall, and turned. The Crew Commander. 'This is number three,' she told him. 'So it's just two. Possibly. One male, one female.'

He nodded. 'We're just establishing the structural integrity of the building and whether or not it's safe to enter. The back looks not too bad though; a combination of wind direction and possibly the lack of flammable materials to feed the flames. And luckily your colleague spotted the fire before it fully took hold.' He paused, then addressed them both. 'But that said, please don't get your hopes up. The heat was very intense, as I'm sure you can testify, sir. I'll let you know when we find anything.'

Somehow they found themselves in the back of a police car, Ruth with Graham's blanket around her; at some point Beth and Dimitri arrived, white faced and silent. 'Liaise with Tariq,' Ruth told him. 'We need to find that van.' Beth stood as near to the house as she was allowed, trying to listen into the chatter between the fire crew, her heart getting heavier with every minute that passed. When the crew finally went in, the lighting rig on the Incident Support Unit was bathing the building in an eerie, ghostly light. The other three, seeing the sudden flurry of activity, joined her. It was as if time slowed, and noise ceased. After what seemed an age they realised the firefighters were coming out. Then they saw the gurney. And the bodybag.

And Ruth screamed.

~o00o~

**Sorry folks, and it's not going to get any cheerier any time soon. Chapter 13 will hopefully be up over the weekend, or early next week. Pesky work...  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**I might regret this, but I decided to do this chapter rather differently, so it's much shorter than normal. I haven't quite decided yet, but this will either mean a chapter 14 then an epilogue, or a longer epilogue, or...who knows. It's nearly 2am and my brain switched off long since. I hope that much isn't obvious from the content below...!  
**

**Disclaimers, etc etc, and thank you for the lovely reviews. Quite a few seem to be reading but not reviewing...go on, you know you want to. Despite what I've done to poor Harry, I don't bite! I'm also really not sure about this one, so I'd love to know what everyone thinks. Anyway, enough rambling, and on with the show.**

**~o00o~  
**

'A good turnout for a Five funeral,' whispered Tariq.

'Shut up, Tariq,' Beth hissed.

Graham, overhearing, was gratified. His father would have been pleased. He'd told him about Myers's sister's funeral. She, like so many before her, had made the ultimate sacrifice, but for her there had been no flag-draped coffin, no eulogies, none of the pomp and circumstance that the English did so well. Ros's life had been marked with a brief, simple service in an anonymous country church. And six people, colleagues, not friends, had paid their dutiful respects.

Ruth sat beside him, silent and still, her hands clasped on her lap, for once at peace. Her blue eyes, startlingly vivid against her pale, almost translucent, skin, stared ahead, unseeing.

~o00o~

Two days later, she saw a reluctant Graham onto the Edinburgh train. 'You've got your own life to be getting on with,' she said firmly. 'And there's nothing you can do here. I just need to...get on with mine.' She kissed him. 'I'll call you. I promise.'

~o00o~

It was amazing how easily, how quickly, she got into a routine. Her days she spent on the Grid, buried in paperwork, absorbed in chatter, checking and re-checking everything for fear of missing something or making a mistake. Evenings, she sat staring into space, sometimes reading poetry aloud into the silence. Beth and Dimitri popped in once or twice but they tried too hard. The last thing she wanted was cheering up. The last thing she wanted was to make polite conversation with people with whom she'd been discussing terrorist outrages and assassination plots only a few hours before. And then before sleep finally, briefly, dragged her under, she spent the nights watching the car headlights that chased each other across Harry's bedroom ceiling.

~o00o~

The trail of McCann and his accomplices had immediately gone cold. The black van was discovered the following day, burnt out, on the edge of woods a few miles from the steading. Satellite and CCTV feeds generated nothing, and the pc that Tariq surreptitiously set up to run facial recognition 24/7, provided a never-ending carousel of petty thieves, drunken thugs and small-time drug dealers. 'Nobody vanishes into thin air,' Ruth had told Graham. But the fact was that people did, every day of the week; some unwillingly, some only for a while. But many of those who stayed vanished were simply those who didn't wish to be found.

~o00o~

The news channels and the newspapers were given a convincing story about a gas leak; the only victim an elderly, homeless man, his social identity long since gone, one of the forgotten, the disappeared, from the underbelly of the city. When the council buried him in the early days of the new year, the only evidence that he'd ever existed was in news reports that were already fading from memory; and the rebuilding got under way and life moved on.

~o00o~

'It was a criminal act,' Myers had said flatly, 'not a terrorist one, therefore it is not appropriate for us to handle the case. I've passed it on to the Met.'

As the protests erupted around him, he placed his palms on the table and stood. 'That is all. Now we have a state visit to prepare for, and I suggest we get on with it.'

Stunned into silence, they watched him leave, then all eyes turned to Ruth. She was trembling. Beth closed her hand over hers. 'Maybe it's for the best,' she said gently. Ruth looked up at her, her eyes bright with tears. 'No,' Beth conceded, 'I don't really believe that either.'

~o00o~

Although Ruth had barely glanced at the baby book Harry had bought her, somehow she knew that the flutter she felt, so brief, barely there, was their babies stirring within her for the first time. Beth, wondering why her coffee was taking so long, found her in the kitchen in floods of tears. Between hiccuping sobs, Ruth explained. Not normally one to be lost for words, all Beth could do was hold her.

~o00o~

Preparations for the Russian state visit were in full swing. Ruth, in the Registry looking for a file on Chechen gangs, didn't hear her phone ring.

She didn't hear Dimitri say 'Ruth Evershed's phone.'

She didn't hear the conversation.

Down in the Registry she heard running footsteps.

She heard her name being shouted.

She saw Dimitri skid into view, disbelieving, elated, with a grin a mile wide.

And then he said, 'Ruth, the hospital just phoned. It's Harry. He's come round.'


	14. Chapter 14

**This is version three of this chapter, and is so not what I'd set out to write. It really wrote itself, so don't blame me. ;) It's a bit sweary and rather angsty and although I know what the final line of this fic is going to be, I no longer have any idea of how I'm going to get there. So, I hope you won't mind coming along for the ride!**

**Usual disclaimers apply.**

**

* * *

**

_Four months later_

He paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, knee protesting, breath rasping, then marshalled his crutches and continued in an ungainly fashion across the landing. Noticing the door to the spare room was ajar, he nudged it open with a combination of crutch and elbow and hobbled over the threshold. Ruth, hair damp and skin glowing from the bath, was seated on the edge of the bed, slowly, sensuously rubbing body lotion into her swollen belly. She was oblivious to his presence and so he stood watching her, consumed by a heady mix of love and desire, wonder and protectiveness. As her hands moved up and began to glide over the darkened areolae of her breasts he groaned.

Her head shot up, 'Harry!', and to his distress she reached for her dressing gown.

'You're beautiful,' he said simply. 'Please...' His breath caught in his throat.

'Did you want something?' Tying the cord into a double knot.

He forced an apologetic smile. 'No, sorry. I - I just left my phone in the bedroom.'

'You could've shouted; I'd've brought it down.'

'I thought you were still in the bath. Anyway, Nurse Ratchett is a big fan of stairs. Breaks her heart that I don't live in a tower block.'

The blue eyes regarded him impassively.

'Sorry, sorry, I'll let you get on.' And he hobbled out back the way he'd come.

~o00o~

'Okay, you can get dressed now.' Sally Chapman drew the curtain shut behind her and retreated to her desk. Harry, clad in socks and trunks, began the laborious process of getting his clothes back on.

'So, is the abbatoir van waiting out the back?' he called, with a levity he didn't feel.

'No, the one for the glue factory. I'm afraid you're not prime steak anymore, Harry.'

He gave a rueful smile. 'Was I ever?'

'You know me better than to fish for compliments. How are you getting on in there? Do you need a hand?'

His head lolled back. '...Actually, yes, if you don't mind.'

Although the long weeks in hospital, with the poking and prodding, the tests and the bedbaths, the complete lack of privacy, had swiftly stripped him of any modesty and much of his dignity, he still felt his cheeks burning as Chapman helped him on with his jeans and polo shirt. 'Thanks,' he muttered, sliding his feet into his boat shoes.

As he sat down opposite her she gave him a bemused smile. 'At least you got the footwear right.'

'Sorry?'

'I know the perceived wisdom these days is to get things back to normal as soon as possible, but it is still a gradual process and there's no point in making life unnecessarily difficult for yourself.'

'You've lost me.'

'While your mobility is still so restricted, it would make much more sense to wear shirts and jogging bottoms.'

'Does Gok Wan know that such a threat to his sartorial crown lurks within the medical profession?'

'I'm being serious, Harry. Now while I can appreciate that having Ruth pull your jeans up must be almost as much fun as having her pull them down, she's going to be finding it as difficult as you before too long, and once the babies come haute couture à la Harry is going to be bottom of her list of priorities. No, strike that, it won't even be _on_ her list of priorities.'

'Jeans are hardly h...'

'You get my point.'

'Yes, I get your point.' He sighed. 'I do actually have some jogging bottoms. I bought them when I joined the gym at Thames House.'

Chapman beamed. 'That's great. What have you been doing? The treadmill? Exercise bike?'

'Er, no, I just...joined.'

'"Just" as in recently, or "just" as in...?'

'2003.'

'Ah. So, you haven't been back since?'

He grimaced. 'I did go and have a look. It was full of Olympians and catwalk models, all twenty years younger than me and twenty kilograms lighter.'

'Welcome to my world. But you should give it a whirl. Apart from the benefits to your waistline and general mobility, it will help improve your lung function.'

'Enough to get me signed back fit for field ops?'

She shook her head. 'Sorry, Harry, strictly desk duties from now on.'

'Oh. Right. Well, I suppose that had to happen eventually.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Ruth'll be delighted.' He paused. 'So, when do you think I can go back to work?'

Chapman turned to his file. 'The consultant says you can dispense with the crutches at the end of next week and use a walking stick at least until the swelling goes down. On the basis of what I've seen I'd be happy for you to return to work the Monday after next. BUT...'

Harry groaned. 'There had to be one.'

'You have to get the all clear from Diana Jewell first.'

~o00o~

As Ruth closed the front door behind her, Scarlet came hurtling down the stairs, and bobbing up onto her hind legs she rested her front paws against Ruth's thighs and stretched luxuriously.

'Hey, madam.' Ruth scratched the yawning dog's head. 'You and your dad been fast asleep?' As Scarlet flopped back down onto all fours, she retrieved her shopping bags from the floor and edged past her into the kitchen.

'Harry?' she called. No answer. She unpacked the shopping and then went back into the hall. Scarlet leapt to her feet and began skittering round in circles. 'Okay, okay, let's go.' With some difficulty she attached the lead to Scarlet's collar and then went back out into the balmy evening.

When they got back forty minutes later, a sleep-dishevelled Harry was in the kitchen, adding beansprouts to a sizzling wok full of chicken and peppers and mushrooms. He glanced up as Ruth appeared in the doorway.

'Perfect timing. I just need to add the sauce then we're done. Can you set the table?'

'Harry, you shouldn't be standing like that. Sit down, let me...'

'I'm fine.'

'But...'

'Ruth, I'm _fine_.' He took a deep breath. 'There should be cutlery in the dishwasher; I haven't got around to emptying it yet.'

'Okay.' As she moved around him getting cutlery and place mats her disquiet was tangible.

'Chapman says I can go back to work the week after next,' he told her.

Startled, she looked up at him. 'Really?'

'Really.'

'Well, good; that's good.' _Oh dear god, there's no way he's up to that. There's no way _I'm_ up to that. _'If you're sure you're ready.'

'Champing at the bit,' he said cheerfully, spooning rice onto their plates.

~o00o~

They sat in silence, Harry enjoying his meal, Ruth pondering on how to raise her concerns about his return to the Grid. Eventually it dawned on him that the pile of food on her plate wasn't getting much smaller, just re-arranged.

'So, how was your day?' he asked.

The fork stilled. 'Myers was on again about my starting my maternity leave.'

_Thank god, the arsehole finally got something right._ 'Well, yeah, that's not a bad idea. I mean, if you get much bigger there's a good chance of your getting stuck in the pods.' He chuckled. 'Oh, what...? Ruth!'

Eyes blazing. 'Finished with this?'

'Well, no, actually...' but she snatched up his plate, sending a shower of rice tumbling into his lap.

'Jesus, Ruth...'

He let his knife and fork fall onto the table, and he closed his eyes as the clatter of cutlery and crockery reverberated from the kitchen. And then...silence. Wearily he pushed himself upright, and ignoring his crutches limped through. She was standing over the sink, a curtain of hair obscuring her face, but still she turned from him.

'Ruth, it was a joke.'

'No, it bloody wasn't.'

Tentatively, awkwardly, he moved towards her. 'You're seven months pregnant with twins. Nobody expects you to look like those...those bony, botoxed bimbos in women's magazines.' He reached for her, but as his fingers brushed her shoulder he felt her flinch. Swallowing hard, his hand dropped to his side.

'I think I'll go to bed,' he said finally.

She didn't move. 'It's not even nine o'clock.'

'Going to make me a better offer? No, I didn't think so.' He winced at the venom in his voice.

'Harry, I need to do your back.'

'Sod my back.'

'But the consultant said...'

'I couldn't give a flying fuck what the consultant said!' he roared. And with as much dignity and speed as he could muster he limped from the room.

Some time later he heard Ruth going to bed, but he lay unmoving, watching those car headlights, til finally in the grey light of dawn he sank into an exhausted sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They mean such a lot, I promise. Penultimate chapter, I think. Don't own anybody any more.  
**

* * *

_Monday_

As Harry walked through the scanner he heard a voice behind him.

'Sir Harry?'

He turned. 'Morning, James. Good weekend?'

'Yes, thank you, sir. And good to see you back, sir. But I'm afraid I can't let you through.'

'What?'

'Orders of Dr Jewell, sir.'

Harry clapped the security guard on the shoulder and went to move past him. 'Just as well she's not the boss of us then, eh?'

James stepped back, blocking Harry's path.

'And of the Director General. And the Home Secretary. Sir.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'A three line whip.'

'Dr Jewell said she'd meet you at 9am, sir. She asked me to give you this address.' He handed Harry a piece of paper.

'Thank you.' He pinched the bridge of his nose, considering. 'James, do me a favour. Ms Evershed should be in around 9. Can you tell her I'm in a meeting and will see her later?'

~o00o~

To his surprise the taxi dropped him off outside a 1930s semi in a quietly prosperous suburb, not the anonymous security service satellite office he'd been expecting. As he trudged up the path the front door opened.

'Morning, Harry!' She tried to suppress a grin, but failed miserably. As he reached the doorstep she stood back and beckoned him in. 'In you come. I've just made coffee. Would you like some?'

'Yes please.' For no reason that he could have explained he would have expected her hallway to be gloomy and cosily cluttered with books and domestic detritus. Yet bright and airy, it ran the length of the house, a picture window at the far end giving a glimpse of the back garden. The floor was stripped pine; abstract prints lined the pale yellow walls. The only clutter was a glass-topped beech table along one wall, upon which sat a vase of gerberas and a small, pale blue bowl of keys. The effect was somehow calming. Shifting his weight onto his right leg he turned to her. 'Isn't this rather unorthodox?'

She shrugged. 'I'm on leave this week, and it's quiet, and private. And the coffee's better.'

He brightened. 'On leave? Look, this can wait. Give me a call when...'

One glance silenced him. 'First on the left. Make yourself at home. I'll just go get the coffee.'

~o00o~

By the time the first cafetiere was finished Harry had dispensed with his jacket, had his sleeves rolled up, and was leaning against the window sill, gazing out at a blanket of striped lawn edged by flowers of every conceivable hue.

'That must take a lot of upkeep.'

'Harry, what do you think is to be gained by avoiding answering my questions?'

'My private life remaining just that. Private.'

'I need to establish your fitness to return to work. We've done the physical side of things and the impact of that...though I suspect you've not been entirely honest about the extent of the pain...and now we have to do the emotional. Even you can't argue that someone's emotional state has a huge...'

'My emotional state is fine. You don't get to my age in my job if you're liable to fall to pieces every time you take a bit of a beating.'

'_A bit of a beating_? Harry, a litany of injuries such as yours is normally only found in post mortem reports!' She sat back in her chair. 'Why do you think they didn't shoot you?'

He stiffened. 'I've no idea.'

'Jenna Preston was tortured and raped before she was shot. Did you witness any of that?'

'I was unconscious for most of the time. Whenever I came round McCann just carried on where he'd left off.'

'So you were held separately?'

Harry's shoulders sagged. 'Look, I can't talk about this. It's an ongoing murder enquiry, and no doubt I'll get hauled up in front of the JIC as well.'

'Hauled?'

'Because of me, central London got blown up, a promising Junior Case Officer got killed, and a civilian was sent wandering round bloody IRA safehouses. I've got one or two questions to answer, don't you think?'

'The civilian being Graham, your son?'

'Yes.'

'I gather you're recently reconciled.'

'The one good thing that's happened this past year.'

His face crumpled as he realised what he'd just said. 'Oh Christ,' he muttered.

'Sit down, Harry,' said Jewell, gently.

He lowered himself onto the sofa, and waited for her to speak. As the silence lengthened he brought his eyes up to meet hers, and gave a despairing shrug.

'Talk to me.'

'I didn't mean that. Of course I didn't mean that. It's just...' He massaged his forehead with his fingertips as he wrestled between his innate desire to keep up the barriers, to share nothing of himself, and an overwhelming need to talk, to just talk, as if by doing so he could rid himself of the pain, the despair, the worry, the guilt...but what kind of can of worms would that open? And discussing his private life, that would be tantamount to betrayal. He couldn't do that. Not to Ruth.

'I'd better go. I'm sorry.' He scrabbled for his stick and levered himself upright, forcing a smile. 'I thought these sessions were only supposed to last an hour anyway.'

Jewell too was on her feet, looking at the dejected figure before her in consternation. 'Look, it's nearly lunchtime. Stay, I'll make us something, and you can talk, or not talk, whatever you want. I just don't want you leaving like this when you're upset.'

'I'm not upset, I'm...fine. Permission to return to the Grid, miss?'

He felt her hand on his arm. 'Talk to Ruth, hm? And for god's sake take the painkillers. Suffering when you don't need to is just plain dumb.' She sighed. 'Oh, go back to saving the world, Harry. But I want to see you in a week's time. No excuses.'

He could almost feel the weight lift from his shoulders. 'Despite what some may tell you, I'm not so much of an arrogant sod as to think that I'm saving the world.' He paused, and gave an impish grin. 'Just some of it.'

~o00o~

As the taxi wound its way through the lunchtime traffic to Thames House he switched on his mobile. A screed of missed calls, one of them from Ruth. 'Harry, it's me. Where are you? Dolby needs to speak to you urgently.' He groaned and hit speed dial.

'Hi...'

'Hi. Please tell me you're on your way here; we're running out of excuses.'

'Where am I right now?'

'You've nipped out to get me some Gaviscon.'

He smiled. 'Do you need some? Given that's what popped into your head.'

'No, I've got half of Boots in my bag. Where are you?'

'Meet me for lunch.'

'What?'

'Meet me for lunch. I'm in a taxi; I should be back at Thames House in ten minutes or so.'

'Sorry Harry, I can't. I've got reports to do for Myers; he needs them for a meeting at two.'

'You're entitled to a lunchbreak, Ruth.'

'I brought in a sandwich; I'll eat that at my desk.'

'That's just lunch, not a break.' Resigned, Harry was about to sign off, then his head reared up. 'No, sod that, Ruth; I'm pulling rank. Myers' reports can wait. I'll pick you up outside in ten minutes.'

'Harry...'

'I'll deal with Myers. Ten minutes.' He swallowed. 'I do love you, you know.'

'I know you do. Okay, on your head be it. I'll see you soon.'

~o00o~

His heart lifted as they drew up outside Thames House and he saw her waiting outside. She was wearing a pale blue thin cotton dress with a sweetheart neckline that she hated because it clung to every curve. Yet in the unseasonably warm May weather and in her heavily pregnant state it was the coolest item of clothing that she had, and to Harry's quiet delight she had grudgingly worn it several times over the past couple of weeks. Her hair, which she was growing to take advantage of its thick and glossy pregnancy state, was haphazardly piled up on the back of her head. She was bare legged, her feet encased in Birkenstock flip flops; with her centre of balance skewed and her reactions slowed, she had at long last, to his relief, given up on the hazardous heels she normally wore. She looked, Harry thought, utterly adorable.

As the taxi stopped she ducked down, checking that it was his, and then smiling crossed the pavement and clambered in. Somewhat to his surprise she plonked her bag on the seat by the window and sat beside him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

'What's that for?'

'That's for the look on Philip Myers' face when I told him I had made arrangements for lunch and wouldn't be able to finish his reports.'

Harry, encouraged by the hand resting on his thigh, slid his arm around her shoulders. 'Maybe it'll teach him to be more organised; that committee meeting has been in his diary for the past three weeks.'

'How do you...' Ruth sighed and leaned into him. 'Never mind. I'm not sure I want to know.'

The taxi dropped them off at a pub on the river near Kew Gardens. Ruth went inside to get their drinks and a menu, while Harry sat down at a table by the water and leaned back, eyes closed, relishing the heat of the sun on his face.

'Harry, you can't take me out for a romantic lunch and bloody fall asleep.'

He sat up and reached for his pint. 'Sorry. So what did Dolby want, anyway?'

'No idea. He said he'd left a load of messages on your mobile though. Didn't he?'

'...yeah.'

'Don't you think you should check them?'

He made a face. 'Later.'

Ruth sipped her wine, silently daring Harry to grumble about drinking alcohol in pregnancy, and eyed him speculatively.

'So where were you this morning, then?'

He reached for the menu. 'Just routine...back to work formalities. Have you decided what you want?'

Recognising a brush off when she saw one, Ruth tried another tack. 'Talking of which, what's with the spontaneous lunch?'

'Can't I take the woman I love out to lunch once in a while?'

'You're beginning to worry me. What have you done?'

He threw his arms out. 'I haven't done anything! Ruth, this is what couples _do_! We've just had such a shitty bloody time of it, I thought that maybe now I'm back at work we could try to enjoy a bit of normality before the babies arrive.'

She gave a wry smile. 'Yes, but for us normality isn't exactly lunch in a riverside pub...more bolting sandwiches at our desks in between national emergencies. And anyway, what's stopped you meeting me for lunch any day since you got out of hospital?'

He blew out his cheeks. 'My knee? In case you hadn't noticed I'm not exactly tripping the light fantastic at the moment.'

'There's no need to be sarcastic.' Seeing the look on his face she added, 'Anyway, we'd better order. What do you want?'

Lips pursed, he regarded her for a moment. 'Whatever you're having.'

Her face unreadable, Ruth went back inside.

~o00o~

When the waiter laid down her pesto-drizzled bruschetta and his beetroot risotto, she at least had the grace to look shamefaced. Harry, however, took the rebuke on the chin, and began to eat.

'I'm sorry,' she said, as he ploughed through it. 'That was childish.'

He looked up. 'Ordering me beetroot risotto when you know I hate both? Okay, consider my wrists well and truly slapped. But if my main course is the stuffed artichokes you're bloody well picking up the tab.'

She grinned. 'Saltimbocca.'

'Good girl.' He pushed his plate away from him and took a slug of beer. 'Look, Ruth...' _We need to talk._

'What?'

'We...'

With a grimace she shifted in her chair, massaging the small of her back.

'We need to get a move on with the baby stuff. We haven't bought anything yet and the room needs painting.'

Ruth nodded. 'I know. I'm just a bit...superstitious about that. Well, the pram. Old wives' tale, really.'

He reached across and entwined his fingers in hers. 'Everything's going to be fine. I promise.'

'I'll hold you to that. Okay, this weekend then. But in the meantime, are you free on Thursday night? It's the first of the antenatal classes with partners.'

Harry's face lit up. 'I wouldn't miss it for the world.'

* * *

**A/N: Oooh, did a little bit of fluff creep in there briefly? I'm getting soft in my old age! For those of you outwith the UK, Boots is a national pharmacy chain, and Gaviscon a heartburn remedy.**


	16. Chapter 16

**And so, we're at the end. Thank you very much to all who have read, and reviewed, and provided encouragement! Usual disclaimers apply.**

* * *

'Oh shag,' muttered Harry as they entered the pods. 'A welcoming committee.'

He twitched his muscles into his professional smile. 'Richard! Good to see you.'

'Finally! Harry, where the hell have you been? I expected you in hours ago.'

_Yes, I'm much better, thanks. These days the pain's just down to a dull roar. _

'Ruth had an appointment. I was doing the dutiful partner bit.'

Ruth smiled politely at Dolby and edging past him returned to her desk.

'Right, right. Can we adjourn to your office?'

'Be my guest.' As Dolby strode off, Harry shook Tariq's hand and hugged Beth. 'Where's Shark Boy?' he asked.

'Meeting an asset,' said Beth. 'He should be back soon.'

Harry nodded and followed his boss, sliding the door closed behind him.

Twenty minutes later, Dolby re-emerged, face dark, jaw clenched, an exit punctuated by the sound of clattering from Harry's office.

Ruth waited til Dolby was through the pods and had disappeared down the corridor before cautiously venturing over to investigate. Harry sat, head in hands, chest heaving, his desk bare. His phone, monitor and keyboard lay in a tangle of plastic and wires on the floor.

'Harry, what on earth...?'

'Not now, Ruth.'

'But...'

'I SAID NOT NOW!'

Awkwardly lowering herself into a crouch she disentangled the melee and placed it all back on his desk.

'Don't you ever do as you're told?' His voice was weary.

'As I'm told? What am I, six?' She flinched. 'Ow.'

His head shot up. 'What's wrong?'

'Foetal fisticuffs. It's like WWF in there.'

Harry blinked. 'That's pandas, Ruth.'

She flapped her hand. 'Well, whatever. Here.' With a glance to the blinds that Myers had always kept closed she unbuttoned the lower buttons on her dress then took his hand and held it to her, gently manoeuvring it across the taut surface of her belly.

'Bloody hell,' he breathed as he felt a shift underneath his palm and the skin bulged. 'What's that, a foot?'

'Possibly, or an elbow, maybe.'

Enchanted, Harry laid his other hand on the other side of her stomach and after a few moments he was rewarded by a gentle nudge. A slow smile spread across his face. 'Hey,' he murmured, 'this is your dad. I hope you two are behaving in there.' Leaning forward he gently kissed Ruth's stomach. She swallowed. As he looked up their eyes locked. Tentatively she lowered her head to his as his hands slid round her, pulling her between his legs, then suddenly there were footsteps outside.

Hurriedly they broke apart, Ruth turning her back to the door as she fumbled with her buttons, Harry roaring 'knock!' just as the door was flung open and Tariq barged in. Oblivious to Harry's frustration and Ruth's fluster he strode towards the desk.

'Harry, you've got to see this.' He stopped dead. 'What the hell have you done to your monitor?'

**~o00o~**

_Tuesday_

'Harry, good to see you, good to see you.' Hand outstretched, Towers rose to greet him. 'How are you?'

Harry realised Towers genuinely wanted to know. 'Well, I have a few more scars to add to the collection but apart from my knee and the burns on my back everything has healed up fine. They'll just take a little longer.'

'Good, good. I hope you're not in too much pain? Still got quite a limp there, I see.'

He smiled. 'Think I'll live, Home Secretary.'

'Glad to hear it. And how's Ruth? Not long to go now. Fourth of July, isn't it?' The twinkle in his eye was unmistakeable.

'She's fine, thanks. And yes, that's the due date, but let's just say I have my fingers crossed for the third.'

Towers laughed. 'Indeed. Right, well, I'm afraid we better get down to business. You'll appreciate of course that the JIC will wish to discuss the McCann affair on Thursday. Obviously I've been briefed by the Commissioner and by Richard Dolby, but I need to hear your version of events so I know exactly what we're dealing with. We don't want to give anyone any more ammunition, do we?' He sat back in his chair and regarded Harry over the top of his glasses. 'Why don't you start by filling me in on the history of you and this McCann chap?'

**~o00o~**

Towers listened in silence as Harry recounted his time in Belfast with Bill Crombie and the events of Christmas and Boxing Day. He'd rehearsed the spiel a hundred times in his head, and the fingertips gripping his thighs were the only indication that this wasn't a normal Whitehall debriefing.

By the time he'd finished, Towers was visibly shaken. He removed his glasses and slowly stood. 'Sod the yardarm, I think I could do with a drink. Would you like one?'

'Please.'

Harry watched as Towers poured them both a generous measure and added ice to his own glass before handing Harry his.

'So,' he said at length, 'this sux...'

'Suxamethonium.'

'...suxamethonium that they drugged you with just before they left. You were totally conscious, able to feel pain, but unable to move or speak?'

'Yes.

'And you were aware that the building was on fire?'

'Yes.'

'Dear god. So what saved you?'

'Graham going back; a lack of accelerant and combustible materials; wind direction...proximity to Whipps Cross.' Harry shrugged. 'Luck.'

'But it seems to me as if McCann intended for you to die. Why would he if he had said that the two of you were even once he shot Jenna?'

Harry sipped at his whisky, letting the peaty heat spread slowly down the back of his throat.

'I don't know,' he admitted, 'but what he did at Christmas and in '78 is hardly the actions of a sane, rational individual, is it, sir? I mean, detonating a bomb in Central London, for god's sake? Why didn't he just gun me down outside Thames House?'

Towers pursed his lips. 'Quite. In that vein, do you think we need to arrange protection? McCann is still out there, after all.'

Harry shook his head. 'He's long gone. And I wouldn't want Ruth finding out about it all. And she would, believe me.'

The older man looked like he was about to argue, then merely said, 'Well, as far as I'm concerned the only issue the JIC has grounds to get vexed about is that of your son's involvement. However, as it seems he was, initially anyway, working on his own initiative, we might be able to fend that one off. Apologies if I'm being non-PC, but I'd really rather not have to submit Ruth to what would be to all intents and purposes a cross-examination.'

'What? But surely if anyone should be asked to account for what happened it's Myers? He is, after all, section chief, and he was on duty at the time. After a fashion.'

'Philip has made it very clear that Ruth acted contrary to his explicit instructions in facilitating Graham's actions.'

Harry scowled. 'I bet he has.'

'Okay, Harry, I think we're done. I'll see you on Thursday morning.'

'Actually, Home Secretary, there is one other thing.'

Towers glanced at his watch. 'Go on.'

'I had a rather...troubling conversation yesterday with Sir Richard.'

'Oh? Concerning?'

'Our Mr Myers. His interpretation of his job description seems to be imaginative, to say the least.'

**~o00o~**

_Thursday_

Harry, still feeling slightly queasy, followed Ruth out to the car. 'You might've told me they were showing a video of a woman giving birth,' he grumbled.

She smiled. 'You wouldn't have come if I had.'

Grudgingly, he conceded the point. 'But the other couples seemed very nice.'

'Yes, yes they are.' Unspoken between them was the knowledge that alone of the mothers Ruth would not be keeping in touch once the babies were born.

As he belted himself in she noticed anew how tired and drawn he looked. 'You haven't said how the JIC went today.'

'Weeell, I limped in, rolled up my sleeves so they could see the scars on my wrists, winced occasionally...'

'I hope you didn't. None of that lot are sentimental, let alone stupid.'

'No, no. They decided there was no case to answer. Extenuating circumstances, blah, blah, blah. All available resources of the Met will be devoted to bringing McCann and his men to justice...you know the drill.'

'Thank god for that. Listen, shall we get a takeaway? I haven't the energy to start cooking now.'

'Sounds like a plan. Curry?'

'You do know that a hot curry can bring on labour?'

'Chinese it is, then.'

**~o00o~**

Harry lay prone on the bed as Ruth massaged cream into his back with deft, efficient strokes. He was on the verge of drifting off when he felt her hands slow, then stop.

'Ruth?'

She sighed, and sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

Harry rolled onto his side. 'What's the matter?'

'The conversation tonight about coping with sleepless nights...'

'What about it?'

'I'm having enough problems getting my head round how I'm going to cope with two babies...'

Harry frowned. 'I'll do my bit, you know that.'

She shook her head. 'That's not what I mean. It's your nightmares, Harry; they're getting worse.' She turned to him, saw the blank look on his face. 'Do you not remember last night? You were _screaming_. It's a wonder none of the neighbours called the police.'

'I don't...I...no.'

'You were soaked in sweat, flailing about. How I'm not black and blue I have no idea.'

'Christ, I'm sorry, I...'

'It took me ages to calm you down again and get you back to sleep, and I can't...'

Appalled, Harry pushed himself upright. 'How often is this happening?' he asked, quietly.

'Last night was the worst it's ever been, but, well, probably three nights a week it's bad enough to wake me up.'

'Why didn't you tell me before?'

'I assumed you knew and just didn't want to talk about it.' Ruth sat, head bowed, massaging her palms with her thumbs. 'But we can't go on like this. I don't know what's going on inside your head, Harry, but you need to see someone about it. You need to get help.'

The silence lengthened, then Harry ventured, 'you know some of what's going on inside my head. You know what some of the problem is. The fact that since I've come home you've been sleeping in the spare room. The fact that when you've touched me it's been to rub cream in my back or change my dressings. We don't talk anymore, unless it's about wounds healing or swelling going down or what I fancy for dinner. I'm fed up of living with my carer, Ruth.'

She raised her head. 'Well, thanks very much.' Her voice wasn't entirely steady.

'That's not what I mean, and you know it. I'm grateful for all you've done, and I can't begin to imagine how hellish the past few months have been for you, but...Monday is the closest we've come to any kind of intimacy since Christmas, and we should be so happy right now, yet we're further apart than we've ever been.'

He realised she was crying. Helpless, despairing, he shuffled over and sat beside her, taking her trembling hands in his. 'We can sort this, I promise you we can sort this. But let me in, Ruth; please, you've got to let me in.'

**~o00o~**

_Monday_

Gina Markham liked going to the Garden of Remembrance in the early evening, after Noel Edmonds finished. By then it was deserted, and she could tell George about her day without having to feel embarrassed about people overhearing. Tonight though, as she stood up to leave she was surprised to see an elderly man in an unseasonal black coat a few yards away, in front of the Memorial Wall. She watched as, leaning heavily on a stick, he bent down and laid a bouquet of sunflowers underneath one of the plaques. For some reason as she drew level with him she stopped.

'Are you alright, lovey?'

He turned, and she saw he wasn't elderly, not quite. He had a kind face, but eyes, bright with tears, that had seen too much. He brushed at his cheek with his sleeve and gave her a shaky smile. 'Yes, thank you.'

Gina glanced at the plaque, and winced at the birth date. 'Too soon, lovey, far too soon. I'm sorry for your loss.' Briefly she rested her hand on his arm; all he could do was nod.

As she walked on down the hill, the wind, fragrant with mingled summer flowers, carried his words to her.

_'I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'_

_

* * *

_

**A/N: too many loose ends? Myers' head isn't on the city gates, for one. But that, as they say, is another story!**_  
_


End file.
